


Love, Loss, Lustrum

by bakerstreetashtray



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 5 years, M/M, mormor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-13 13:43:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 40,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2152842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakerstreetashtray/pseuds/bakerstreetashtray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian Moran and James Moriarty have known each other since they were five years old, and have lived a life alongside one another. The years pass by, and it very quickly becomes evident that they can't stay away from each other, whatever that means for the couple. </p><p>But life is not a fairy tale.</p><p> </p><p>*A lustrum is a period of five years, and the word originated in Ancient Rome.</p><p>[mormorphone.tumblr.com]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 5.1

**FIVE YEARS OLD**

 

Saint Abigail's Primary was certainly not the best school in Killarney, but it was a school and close to home, and that was enough for Brigid. On the first day of term, she stood in James' bedroom, armed with an ironed uniform in bottle green, smiling at him encouragingly as the five year old peeked out from his bed covers.   
  
"Now, James." She began, in that chiding tone that the boy had come to know too well. "You don't need to be frightened."  
  
She hung the uniform on the wardrobe and bent down, pulling the covers back and then laughing when he squeaked and tried to hide. Her arms found a tiny pajama-ed waist, and she tugged him from the bed, her boy still warm from sleep. Black hair was tousled, sticking up at all angles, and he flailed in her arms for a moment before the two of them crashed down on the carpet, giggling.   
  
"Will they have science?" James asked, his eyes earnest and excited, his voice a timid squeak as his mother sat him in her lap and began to comb through his hair with her fingers. He turned around, trying to look at her. "And books? Will they have books, mama?"  
  
"All the books you could ever want to read." Brigid reassured with a smile, and then tugged off those pajamas, James squealing when the top got stuck on his head, ruining the good work with his hair. She sighed, and he cuddled close.  "You're not my baby any more." She said a little morosely, though smiled sadly, and James clambered down, standing on his tiptoes to reach his drawer, and pull on a pair of pants. Backwards.  
  
"Of course I'm not a baby!" He demanded shrilly, and Brigid shook her head in solemn agreement, much to James' delight. He puffed up his chest, marched over to his uniform.. and then looked a little uncertainly at the buttons of the shirt, at the stiff set of the bottle green blazer. Brigid smiled and stood, and James turned around, tiny fingers in his mouth. Sheepish.  
  
"..Will you help me?"  
  
-

 

An hour later, and they stood together under an umbrella, the sheeting rain having accompanied them on the walk to St. Abigail's. The walk wasn't far, though and James had been hard to keep under shelter, too excited about seeing the books. The 'science', though Brigid wasn't entirely sure how much 'science' the reception class would see. Still, she hadn't wanted to dampen his enthusiasm.. 

 

Children stood around with their mothers and fathers, all James' age, a few of them crying.  Brigid recognised a few other mothers, and they exchanged polite smiles.The doors opened, and she bent down with the umbrella, cupping James' cheek with her hand for a moment before patting down his hair, and trying to straighten the blazer that was at least two sizes too big for him. It had been the smallest they'd had. He was small for his age, she knew. Perhaps it was something to do with the food. There never seemed to be enough of it, no matter how much she - and James' father, James Senior - worked for it. Though, that might also be down to the amount spent on hard liquor, she thought with a sudden ripple of disgust for her husband. 

 

She quickly pushed that away, and smiled at her son. He smiled back widely, with two neat rows of baby teeth. She folded back the long sleeves of the blazer, straightened the bottle green cap, and then stood, trying not to get emotional. 

"Go on, then." She said with a smile, and gave him a little nudge towards the door, where all the other children were filing in, an older lady holding the door open. James nodded, and began to walk in confident little steps towards the others - before at the last moment, running back and throwing his arms around Brigid's legs. She laughed, the sound bursting from her in a near sob, and bent down to hug him back, before he was running for the door, excited again. "Bye mama!"

"I'll pick you up at three o clock, James!"

  
Brigid stood outside for ten minutes before finally heading home. James Sr. would be waking up soon, and she'd need to make him breakfast before he went to work. She took a deep breath, and went on her way, wishing for the hundredth time that she'd had the foresight to have more babies.

 

-

 

Everyone was bigger.  

 

James' fingers curled around the hems of his blazer sleeves as he headed inside with the other children, his first thought a bit funny. Why was everyone bigger? Mama had said that he wasn't the youngest. It didn't make much sense - but he didn't care. The lady was telling them to sit down, but he'd spotted the bookshelf in the corner and immediately made a run for it, awe on his face as he felt the spines of the books with his fingers, his hat falling over one eye as he tried to look down at the bottom shelf.

A hand, a big hand, a grown-up hand, found his shoulder and guided him to a seat. The lady took off his cap, and set it on the desk in front of him. James pouted and looked back longingly at the books.

"Good morning, class one!"

Silence. A few of the children looked around at each other, and James was no exception. He craned his neck, his eyes focusing on tiny details. The girl with the pigtails, tied by bright pink ribbons. The boy with the messy blonde hair, not combed like mama had done for James. The two girls who looked exactly the same - who James knew must be twins. 

"When I say 'good morning', you all say - 'Good Morning, Mrs. Feock!' Shall we try again? Good morning, class one!"

"Good morning, Mrs. F.."

The lady's name was hard to say, but James was proud that he'd remembered it. She had them try three more times before they all knew what to say, and then she began to hand out books. James grew excited, tiny fingers snatching the book and opening it up - only to find that it was full of blank lines. She came around next with pencils. 

"Today, class one - we're all going to write our names, and one sentence about ourselves. And then we'll all read them out, and get to know each other. How does that sound, class one?"

Silence. James dropped his pencil with a hollow clatter.

"I said - how does that sound, class one?"

"..Y.. yes.. good.. Mrs. F.."  The replies were uncertain, and the lady sighed, retreating to her desk. She brought around charts full of letters, big and small. 

"If you need help with spelling, put up your hand. Let me show you what I mean.."

She turned around, and wrote on the board, reading as she did it.  "..My.. name.. is.. Mrs.. Feock and.. I.. like.. dogs."

-

 

James had written half of his sentence, very carefully picking the letters he needed from the chart and then saying it out loud to make sure it made sense.

"..My.. name.. is.."

"My name.. is.. James.."

The words were starting to mash together in his head when Mrs. Feock let them outside for a break, the rain having stopped for a little while. James hung back, still tracing his last 'S', until the lady picked him up and out of his seat, nudging him towards the door.  "Go on, pet. Off you go."

"..I don't want to go outside." James said, a little shyly. He reached for his pencil. "I like writing."

"Mrs. Feock needs a coffee." She said just as pleasantly, and walked James hand in hand to the door, taking the pencil from him and then pushing him gently onto the playground. The door closed behind him, and the boy stared at it for a long few seconds, frowning. There were books inside.

"Your name's James." 

The voice came from behind him, and James turned quickly, folding his arms across his chest. The blazer made it uncomfortable, and he'd left his cap on the table. Mama had said that some of the boys might want to fight. She said that was just how boys were, so James puffed out his chest.  "..So?" He shot back, and the boy grinned. It was the boy with the messy blonde hair. And his blazer fit just fine, but his shoes were already scuffed. James looked down at his own, the leather shiny. Mama had buffed them with oils.

 

"I don't know." The boy shrugged. He was holding a ball behind his back, and brought it out shyly. "Do you want to play?"

James didn't really like sports, but his papa sometimes made him play. He got angry when James couldn't stop the ball from sliding between the bins, or kicked it and missed. But he had nothing else to do out here. A group of girls were playing a skip game, and some of the other boys were chasing each other. James nodded quickly.

"Okay."

A pudgy hand was thrust towards him. "I'm Sebastian."

James stared at it for a moment, before taking it with two fingers and shaking it. He wrinkled his nose. "..That's not a name."

Sebastian blinked at him, and then pouted, his voice squeaky. "It is so! It's my name."

"It's too big."

The boy shrugged. James dropped his hand, and Sebastian planted the ball in his arms. 

"Okay, I'll go there and you throw it to me."

He had a stronger accent than James, heavy and squeaky Irish, and he squinted at him for a moment before he understood and nodded. Sebastian ran a few metres away. James threw the ball at him, and he caught it with a squeal, jumping up to catch it. James laughed, and then bit his lip in concentration as it came back towards him. He didn't catch it, and watched it as it rolled away and hit the door, embarrassment fizzling through his stomach. 

 

Sebastian called back to him.

"..That's okay! Pick it up!"

James smiled again, small this time, and picked up the ball, throwing it. Sebastian caught it. He threw it back, and this time James got it. The next time, Sebastian moved further away, and then further, until James had to use all his might to throw the ball. He didn't have a hope of catching it back, but Sebastian didn't seem to mind. After a while, the blonde boy ran back over, having surrendered their ball to a group of girls for their next game. James frowned at that, but Sebastian shrugged.

"I didn't want to play anymore."

"Oh."

"Why are you so small?"

James looked down at himself at the question, Sebastian's gaze curious. It made his cheeks feel hot, and James shrugged. 

"I don' know."

"Are you a dwarf or somethin'?"

"What's a dwarf?"

"A small person I think."

"..I don' know. Maybe."

They sat down together, backs to the door, watching the others play. James thought of the bookcase inside, and pouted. 

"My mama said there'd be books here."

Sebastian looked back at him, pulled a face.

"Books?"

"..I like books."  James pulled his knees up to his chest. 

"..I like soldiers." Sebastian shared, his voice grumbly. He jabbed a tiny hand back at the door. "There'sa whole box in there."

"There's books in there too."

They shared a look, brown eyes on blue and equally mischievous. 

 

-

 

Mrs. Feock found them ten minutes later, two five-year olds in a mountain of books and toy soldiers, nestled in the corner of the room where she kept the blankets. James Moriarty and Sebastian Moran were immediately given a time out - once she'd explained what a time out was - and stood in the corner of the room together, Sebastian trying not to giggle. James looked very solemn indeed. 

"Are you sad?" Sebastian whispered, their backs to the classroom. James shook his head, but tried to stay quiet. He didn't want to get into any more trouble. "Don't be sad. It's funny."

"It's not funny!" James whispered back, aghast, and Mrs. Feock glanced up.

"James! That's another ten minutes for you!"

-

 

By the end of the day, James and Sebastian were friends again. Sebastian had won him over with a book that he'd managed to hide away in his blazer, and James had read it under his desk. It was named 'A Cat Called Kelly', and about a cat that kept running away from home and getting into trouble. When they went on their next play break, James told Sebastian that he was just like Kelly. 

"I might run away from home." Sebastian said boldly, tilting his nose in the air. James' mouth dropped open.

"You can't!" He said, a squeak. "What about your mama?"

"I don't have a mama." Sebastian answered just as haughtily. "She's dead."

James just stared at him for a moment, before he put his arms around him. They were standing in the middle of the playground, the ball at Sebastian's feet, and the blonde boy giggled, before putting his arms around James too. 

"What are you doing?" He asked, as they stood, embracing.

"I don' know." James confessed. "My mama does it."

-

 

The end of the first day came around quickly, and they all stood at the front of the classroom, reading out their sentences. James had been one of the first, and had walked up nervously, his workbook clutched in little fingers. They were going two at a time, and he knew he must look little next to the girl beside him. 

"My name is Katherine and I like pink."

James cleared his throat, like the newsreaders did on the television. He shuffled a little where he stood.

"..My name is James and.. I like.. books."

They walked back to their tables, and then sat, waiting for the others. They all giggled at the boy who said he liked mayonnaise, and nodded in agreement with the girl who liked ice cream. Sebastian's turn was last, and James felt sure that he knew what he'd say. 

 

My name is Sebastian and I like soldiers.

He fumbled with his book, and read out in a high squeak. 

"My name is Sebastian.. and I.. like James."

\--

 


	2. 5.2

**FIVE YEARS OLD**  
  
  
Brigid had never been more relieved that James had found a friend. When she picked him up after his first day, he flew into her arms, his shoes scuffed, trousers muddy and his blazer sleeves untucked and falling over his hands. She laughed, nodding as he gave her an excitedly high pitched summary of the day, clutching at her hand as they walked home.  
  
"..-And then he said 'I like  _James_!'"  
  
"That's fantastic. You'll have to tell Papa all about it, too."  She knew already that James Sr. wouldn't care. "..Where does Sebastian's mama live?"  
  
James shook his head solemnly. "He doesn't have a mama."  
  
"..Oh.." Brigid frowned for a moment, and quickly changed tack. "..Well, it's good that you've made friends, baby."  


 

"I'm not a  _baby._ " James whined, and she laughed, squeezing his fingers.

"You'll always be my baby."

-

 

The first couple of weeks flew by in a flurry of hurried washing, lamb stew six nights out of seven, and as much 'Sebastian' as Brigid could take. It was very cute, she supposed. 

"Sebastian kicked the ball so hard today, it broke the fence!"

"Sebastian says babies come from the ground. Don't they come from eggs, mama?"

"Sebastian drew me a picture but it doesn' really look like me.."

And finally, the question came that she'd been dreading. 

"Can Sebastian come over for tea?"

It was an ambush of the kind that only children were capable of - both boys running over to her after school, both muddied from the playground with bright eyes and wide, hopeful smiles. "..I.."  Brigid faltered, shame settling in her chest. Tonight's meat was enough for three of them, but she'd had leftovers. They were going to be tomorrow's dinner.

"Please, mama?"

James' eyes were hopeful, pleading, and she smiled and nodded, a kind of dread settling in her chest. She could stop by the market on the way home from school tomorrow maybe, ask Reynolds the butcher for any old bits and pieces.. pay him with some jewellery..

 

The two little boys whooped, and both ran ahead, Brigid following behind. Her throat felt tight with worry.

 

"Sebastian! Does your father say it's alright?"

"Yeah!" A little voice squeaked back, the pair already running hand in hand. "He works late!"

-

 

James and Sebastian sat in the living room, James' books all around them, and a drawing pad that had a half-finished soldier doodled in the centre, standing on wobbly legs.

 

"You're getting better." James commented squeakily, sitting cross-legged with a dinosaur book in his lap. Sebastian looked up, his fingers covered with felt tip pen, and a wide smile on his face.

"I am, aren't I?"

 

He sat back, and then smiled shyly at James, passing him the picture. "You can have it."

"For me?" James asked, shocked, and Sebastian nodded. 

"I got a secret one too."

"A secret present?"

 

"I'll bring it to school tomorrow."

James clutched the picture in both hands, the soldier staring up at him. It was the best present he'd ever gotten, and he ran his fingers down the green uniform, the edges wiggly with furry felt-tip pen. 

"Do you like it?" Sebastian asked hopefully, and James nodded, touching the colours as carefully as he could. His papa used to bring his mama presents. He remembered that. Flowers, and chocolates - and he'd tried one. It tasted horrible. Once he'd brought home a painting, a huge thing that sat in the hallway for a week before it disappeared.

"Sebastian." James said, tone curious. He laid on his back, and rested the picture on his tummy. "...Are we going to get married?"

Sebastian stopped colouring, and put the pen in his mouth in thought, shrugging. When he brought it away, he had green ink at the edge of his lips. 

"Do you want to?"

"Okay."

"Okay."

 

His mama walked in, with two plates of meat and potatoes, and they both hurried to the table, clambering onto the chairs. 

"What about Papa?"

"He's not home yet, baby."

"But he-"

"James." Brigid's voice was unnecessarily firm, and she smiled apologetically, smoothing her boy's hair and kissing him on the top of the head. "..You two dig in."

 

She disappeared into the kitchen, and checked the clock. He'd be out drinking. At the pub, no doubt. She needed to get Sebastian home before he came back. She didn't want him seeing that, nor James seeing his father.. like that. She stood in the door to the living room, listening to the squeaky baby chatter.

"An' he's always home at five-o-clock sharp."

"Maybe he got 'over time'. My Da always has 'over time'."

"What's over time?"

"I don' know. You got ketchup?"

"Mama?"

Brigid smiled, and went to fetch the sauce. She was halfway to the cupboard when the front door slammed open, crashing into the wall, and James Sr. staggered inside, his work uniform wrinkled and his smile dozy from the ale. She gritted her teeth, and hurried through to the living room, closing the door behind her.

"..Mama?"   James' voice came again, small and confused, and she smiled, glancing back at him. 

"Everything's fine, baby. Eat your beef."

"You got the good ketchup! This is the real stuff."

"You don't got real ketchup at home?"

"Nope."

They erupted into giggles, both coating their meat with the ketchup, and Brigid stayed by the door, opening it a fraction to speak quietly. "..James. Please just go up to bed. The kids are here. They don't need to see you this way."

More crashing. A fist slammed into the back of the door. Brigid squeezed her eyes shut. 

"Brigiiiiiiiiid.." Her husband whined her name, his voice thick and taunting through the liquor. He began like this, always began like this.

 

"Come on, Sebastian." Brigid said, turning around, falsely bright and relieved that the two boys had finished their food, now swiping their fingers through the leftover ketchup. "..Let's get you home, sweetheart."

"But we're not done playing yet!" James protested in squeaky unhappiness, hopping down from his chair as Sebastian put a sticky hand in Brigid's. "I don' want him to go yet!"

"Brigiiiiid..."

"Who's that?" Sebastian asked, and James smiled, running for the door. 

"That's my Papa!"

"James, no don't-"

Brigid lunged for her son, but it was too late. He pulled open the door, and his father saw him, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him into the hall. 

"Let him go!" She shrieked, still holding Sebastian by the hand as she rushed for the hall, but the man had already pushed the five year old onto the stairs, ignoring his screams as he hit him. Sebastian pulled free and rushed at him, pushing him away only to be knocked aside by James Sr's fist, Brigid screaming. 

She ran at him with a vase. He went down, knocked clean out. She rushed out of the house with James and Sebastian, both crying in breathless, shocked sobs.

 

-

 

The next day at school was weird, James thought. He and Sebastian didn't really talk, got on with their work quietly. A bruise was beginning on Sebastian's cheek, and James felt guilty. Ashamed. It was Papa's fault. But James had invited him for tea.. They were alone together at play time, both having pleaded to stay in and sort out the book case. Mrs. Feock had agreed, and then left for the staffroom. 

"Are you okay?" Sebastian had asked, and James nodded silently, for once not able to think about the books.

"We're staying at my Aunt Linda's."

"What  _happened?_ "

 

James made an exasperated sound, and then laid down, flat on his back in a starfish. "I don' know."

"Is your papa always like that?"

"No."

Sebastian laid down beside him, mimicking his starfish position. They stared at the ceiling together. 

"..Your mama's nice."

"Yeah. I love her." James said matter-of-factly.

"..James?"

"What."

Sebastian rolled over, and hugged James tight, and James couldn't help it. He didn't want to look like a baby, but he started crying again, hiding in his friend's shoulder. Sebastian patted him.

"It's okay.."  

Why did it have to be his papa who was crazy? Why couldn't it be someone else's papa? He didn't even like Aunt Linda. She smelt funny, and the house smelt funny, and his cousins were all old.

"..Do you want your present?"

James pulled back, and nodded shyly. Sebastian clambered up, and went to his bag, returning with a battered old textbook. It looked like..-

"Science!"

Sebastian grinned, as pleased as James. "..I found it!"

"Where?" James grabbed it, leafing through the crisp pages. Atoms.. pho- to- syn- the -sis.. he didn't know what the words meant, and he had to sound them out in his head to read them.. but it was real science!

"My brother's bedroom."

"Liam?"

"No, the older one."

"..It's so pretty.." James breathed, running little fingers over the picture of DNA on the cover. Then he threw his arms around Sebastian again, tackling him to the ground with a squeal.  "...Thank you!!!"

  
Sebastian hugged him hard, happy that he was happy too.

 

A little less than six months later, James Moriarty's father was dead and Sebastian Moran was gone.

 

 


	3. 10.1

**TEN YEARS OLD**  
  
"Seb! Can you drop Ronnie off on the way to school?"  
  
Sebastian groaned, tipping his head back against the wall. He had his rucksack on skinny shoulders, ready to leave the house. Ready to face his horrible school, stupid friends - and even worse, he had to take his stupid little brother with him. There were four of them altogether, and Ronnie usually got a lift from his Da. Not this time, though. Da was working on his woodwork again, and Sebastian stomped out of the house.

He shouldn't have to deal with this. He was ten! Practically a grown up. 

 

Ronnie was six, just a little older than Sebastian had been when his life had gone wrong. When his father had found a cheaper house on the other side of Killarney, and they'd all been forced to move away, even though Ronnie was only a baby. He lagged now, trying to hold his books in his arms, his bag having broken a few days ago. His shoes were untied, and Sebastian rolled his eyes, bending down to tie them for him. 

 

Ronnie didn't say anything. He was quiet, liked his books. He reminded him of James - his best friend, before they'd moved. The only friend he'd ever had, really. Sure, he played football with the boys at school, but you could never really talk to them. Not that he and James had ever talked about anything but kid stuff but.. he felt like they'd be good friends, now. 

 

A couple of times, he'd found himself wanting to go past his father's house, see if he could see him. But his father terrified Sebastian, and he hadn't had the nerve, just in case the man came to the door. 

 

This year at school, the teacher had set textbooks down on their desks, and he recognised it as the same one he'd stolen from Sam's room to give to James. A five year old, doing year six maths. It seemed a little crazy, really.

 

"Keep up, Ronnie." Sebastian chided, already holding most of his baby brother's books.

"I'm trying!" He whined, "You're going too fast."

"Because we're late." Sebastian barked back, and Ronnie looked as though he might cry. Guilty, Sebastian felt in his pocket for change, and came across two pound coins. With a smile, he tugged his brother to the roadside, and held out his hand for a passing bus, paying for the two of them. "There. Now we don't have to run."

"..Where'd you get money from?"

"Pocket money. Da gives me a fiver a week."

"Unfair!"

"You're six! What do you need money for?"

"You're ten."

"Exactly. Beer!" Sebastian joked as they sat down, taking his brother's books onto his lap and Ronnie giggled. Still smiling, Sebastian glanced to the side, just in time to find dark eyes, wide on his own. A mouth, open in shock. 

 

It couldn't be..

 

"James?"

 

-

 

"What are you doing on my bus?" James asked, a little awed, looking over his old friend. Sebastian was taller now, almost gangly for a ten year old, that baby fat gone but his blonde hair still messy, blue eyes exactly the same hue as they found Jim's own. 

"It's not your bus, it's my bus!" Sebastian replied, a little indignant, though a smile spread over his lips. He clambered from his seat, and the two children threw their arms around one another, laughing and slapping each other on the back.

 

"My Aunt Linda lives that way.." James said, jabbing a hand back in the direction of Sebastian's house. Sebastian hadn't let him go yet, hugging him hard.

"..I live that way!"

"What school do you go to?"

"St Mary's." Sebastian pulled a face. "It sucks."

"St. Abigail's is horrible."

"You're still there?"

"I never left!"

They pulled back from each other a little awkwardly, and Sebastian glanced at Ronnie, watching them from his seat.

"This is my brother Ronnie."

"..No way. The baby?!"

"The baby. How's.. how's your mum?"

"She's.. okay." James fumbled with the straps of his rucksack awkwardly. Sebastian thought he looked exactly the same. Same dark eyes, same smoothed hair, same shy smile. Just taller. Still small. "My dad died."

"..Oh.. " Sebastian tried to think of what he was supposed to say. "..I'm sorry."

A strange look flitted through James' eyes and his words were rushed, eager. "..We should meet up. After school."

Sebastian nodded, excited. "Yeah! Today? I'm not-"

"I have science club. Tomorrow?"

"Okay. Tomorrow."

James glanced to the side and then straightened his blazer, the same bottle green that Sebastian remembered. 

"This is my stop."

"Okay. You wanna meet at St. Abigails? After school tomorrow?"

"Can I come?" Ronnie piped up, and Sebastian scowled at him. 

"No Ronnie."

James nodded. He hugged Sebastian again, though the look in his eyes was strange. Like he was holding back.

"..See you tomorrow."

-

 

Sebastian was happy. Ridiculously so. He couldn't concentrate for the next two days of school, even took the bus in the morning but James wasn't on it. His old friend. His only friend.. It had been so long..

 

He thought about everything that they needed to talk about, to catch up on. He wanted to tell him that they used that science book at school, to ask if he'd read it. To ask how his dad had died and if that meant that he was.. safe. He'd understood what had happened with James' father now, a few years after it had happened. Recognised that smell of alcohol, after walking to school along the pub route, and smelling that foul, stale smell.

 

Sebastian never wanted to drink.

 

At a snail's pace, the end of the next day finally came. He stood at the gates, helping his Da load Ronnie and his P.E bag and books into the car, saying that he was going to play football instead of coming home. His Da asked him to be home by six, and to bring some potatoes from the shops. And then he ran the rest of the way to St. Abigail's, grinning excitedly. They could be best friends again. He could finally stop being alone. Stop relying on the football boys and their mindless conversations..

James stood outside the gates, looking a little nervous. When Sebastian arrived, sweating and grinning, he laughed at him, and then the pair hugged again, almost jumping around - before heading into the school, and coming to sit at the edge of the playground.

  
"..This place still looks the same."

"I know."

It fell silent for a moment, but then Sebastian exploded, unable to keep it in any longer.

  
"I can't believe I found you!" He threw himself at James, who laughed quietly, hugging him tight. "I've missed you so much.. I haven't made any friends. No one was like you."

James extricated himself after a moment, eyes on the ground. He hugged his knees to his chest, like he'd done when they were five, and Sebastian frowned. Something was wrong. 

"..James?" He said quietly, reaching for him, but James burst into tears. It was sudden, and Sebastian was shocked. James bit down on his lips, screwing his eyes shut as if it might make the crying stop. He took a long shuddering breath, and Sebastian waited. "..Should I call your mum?" He whispered, and James shook his head.

"I.. I don't.. I don't think you'll.. you won't.. like.. me.."

Sebastian frowned, confused, and then laughed. "What? What are you _talking_ about? Of course I-"

"No." James shook his head, his cheeks wet. "Y- you won't.. you won't like me.. now.."

Sebastian put a hand on James' arm, not sure what he was so sad about. James looked around at him, his voice only a fraction lower than it had been five years ago, baby fat still around his jaw, eyes wide and brown and earnest.

"You don't know what I've done." He whispered, and something in Sebastian twisted uneasily. His own words dropped to a whisper, and he leaned in, that hand moving around James' shoulders, trying to comfort him like his Da used to with him.

"Why?" He asked in the same whisper, with childish confusion. "What did you do?"

-

 

"He was hitting her." James said a few minutes later, the words ragged as he cried against Sebastian's navy blue blazer, Sebastian hugging him tight, though his own fingers were shaking. "He was hitting her, and hitting her.. and he said.. he said.. he  _said.._ -"

"What did he say?" Sebastian asked timidly.

 

"James.. pass me my.. drink.. so.. I did.."  He collapsed into another fit of sobs, and Sebastian, confused, just patted him on the back, trying to wait until he calmed down a little.

"..Okay..?" 

"B- but.. I.. put.."

"You put something in it?"  Sebastian stilled rather suddenly, realising what James was saying.. Had he.. had he killed his dad? He suddenly felt cold, icy with uneasy shock. 

"Tetrahydrozolone Hydrochloride." James answered promptly, and Sebastian blinked. The words seemed weird, coming from his mouth. Too long, too.. real.. too.. old.  He collapsed into another sob, and Sebastian held him tighter, mute with shock. James went on, words rasping. "..It.. it was supposed.. to.. give him  _diarrhea_.." He cried, and Sebastian felt a slight rush of relief. He hadn't meant to.. if.. if that's what he was..

"..But?"

"..What do you think?!"  He shrieked.  "He's  _dead."_

James' last word was a whine, and Sebastian shook his head, hands fisting in his hair. The panic set in. Worried for Jim. Wishing he didn't know.

"Oh my God, oh my God.." He said, whimpering. "What.. why.. would you-"

"I thought it would give him diarrhea!" James insisted desperately, clutching at Sebastian's shirt. "..I read it in my book.. I.. I was so scared. My mama was just.. screaming and.. he.. 'pass me my.. drink'.. and I.. and he.. _and._. and..-"

James was crying again, and Sebastian held him there. After a few moments, he sniffed and sat up, his eyes red. His words were a quiet croak.

"..After the funeral, I.. looked. They.. they said it was a heart attack. And.. and tetrahydrozolone hydrochloride.. shrinks blood vessels."

 

The words didn't mean much to ten year old Sebastian, but they meant enough. He closed his eyes, and James shook him desperately. 

"I didn't know! I didn't! I'm sorry,  _so_  sorry, he was just hitting her and hitting her and-"

"It's not your fault." Sebastian said calmly, though his voice trembled and he pulled James close again. He was wrong, though. It was his fault. And they both knew it. James had killed someone. He'd killed his dad and even if it wasn't really his fault, it was still his fault, right? They needed to tell the police or something. The police could always sort everything out.

"..That's not even the worst part."

 

-


	4. 10.2

The worst part, it seemed, was much worse indeed. James lead him behind the school, and then gingerly untucked his shirt, showing  a set of bruises so dark and painful-looking that it made Sebastian shocked and angry.   
  
"Who did it?" He demanded with squeaky intent, "Because I'll fight him! I fight my brothers all the time."  
  
"I don't want you to fight him." James said quietly, his cheeks pink and shame in his expression. "..I already took care of it."  
  
"..Already.." Sebastian said slowly, not understanding. James tucked his shirt back in, but wouldn't meet his gaze. It was that same shame, same self-hatred that he'd seen a flicker of when he was only five years old, and Sebastian had asked him why he was small.  
  
"He's a boy in my class." James said, voice a touch higher, and his eyes hot. He continued looking away.  
  
"James.." Sebastian said, anxious, trying to keep his cool. His heart had begun to thud, and his palms were sweaty. He wiped them on his trousers. "..What did you do?"  
  
"..Poisoned his eczema stuff." James said in a very small voice, speaking to the concrete. Sebastian's heart plummeted into his stomach.   
  
"..You said your Da was an accident.." He whispered, horrified.   
  
"..He was."  
  
"..But-"  
  
"This wasn't."

 

Sebastian saw those bruises again in his mind's eye, screwed his eyes shut. "Oh my God." He whined, and leaned back against the wall with his eyes closed. His head was spinning. He felt like he didn't know him, didn't know the little boy who had lain with him on the classroom floor, starfish together. Who had invited him over, and then giggled with him about ketchup. 

"You're only ten." He whispered, sounding rather like he was going to cry himself.

"Well so are you." James shot back desperately, and Sebastian opened his eyes and pushed him hard.

"I'm not killing people!" He yelled, and James jolted back like he'd been burned, tears springing to his eyes. Sebastian moved closer, as if to hug him again, but James' face had changed. There was something cold in the boy's eyes, something calm beneath the croak of his voice as he blinked away the tears. It was a little.. frightening, really, despite his small frame.

"I had no choice." He hissed, and Sebastian stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time. He staggered back a little, but James stepped forwards, that dark edge still in his eyes. "Every day. For a year. He'd find me in the playground or after school. Every day. I tried running and standing up to him, I tried telling the teachers, telling.. my mama.." He winced, obviously remembering the embarrassment of it.  "Nothing worked!"

"You can't just kill people!" Sebastian said, shrill, his hands flailing.

"My Papa fell, and he never got up again, and my mama never got hurt again." James whispered, and that innocence was still there, Sebastian could see it. But there was something darker fighting with it. He reached out a hand for his friend. James' gaze snapped to him. "..I tried. I tried for as long as I could.. but  _he_.. Carl.. I.."

He was trying hard to stop the tears, and Sebastian stepped forwards to hug him again, his friend's hands still small, his body still that of an eight year old. He tried to imagine how it might have felt being beaten day, after day, after day.. 

 

"..I used your book." He said, voice thick, muffled in his shoulder. Sebastian stilled. He screwed his eyes shut. "..Your science book."

Silence fell between them for a moment, and then James finally pulled back, turning away. 

"..I understand if you don't want to see me again."

Sebastian considered it. Running now. Leaving him. Never seeing James again. 

 

No way. He just couldn't. He was alone, too.

 

And.. and maybe James just needed someone.. to help. Help him be good.

 

"..What school are you at in September?" He asked quietly.

"St. Jude."

Sebastian smiled, though it was hard, considering everything they'd talked about. He felt a bit sick. He needed to go home.  "..Me too."

 

James hugged him hard. His voice was tiny when he spoke.  "..Please don't leave me. I don't want you to go."

He sounded exactly as he had that day, when Sebastian had left his house. When his father had returned home. That five year old was still inside him somewhere. 

"..Never."

-

 

James walked home feeling a little lighter. Sebastian knew. His old friend, Sebastian, and they were going to the same school next year. Well, in a few months time. They could stay together, and be good friends. His eyes felt hot again when he tried to think about what might have happened if Sebastian had never moved away.

 

Maybe they'd have stayed close. Stayed best friends.

 

Maybe Carl would never have gotten near to him, and started his bullying. 

 

He supposed that he should have wished for that. Should have wished that he hadn't done such terrible things.. If his mama knew.. If.. if he got caught, he'd go to jail for ever. 

 

He reached home, and his mother opened the door for him, ruffling his hair as he headed inside.

"You're back late, baby." Brigid said, returning to the kitchen to stir the pot on the stove. Times were still hard, especially without James Sr's salary, but considerably better without the drunken abuser, and money spent on hard liquor. Yesterday's stew was on the menu for tonight. James smiled and sat down at the table.

"I saw Sebastian." He said, and Brigid raised her eyebrows, pleased.

"Oh, he's back in town? Oh, how lovely." She'd been about to ask him over for tea, but bit her tongue. If there wasn't enough back then for an extra five year old, there certainly wouldn't be enough now for a ten year old.  "You'll have to pop over there for dinner."

"I will." James said, and smiled, a lightness in his chest. He felt unburdened, his problems shared. The guilt had been tearing the ten year old apart. Not only for his father, and for Carl.. but for himself. 

 

Because he'd liked it. 

 

That power. It was like a string, connecting them to the world. Life. Papa was alive, and then James cut the string.

 

Carl was alive. And then.. James cut the string.

 

It felt electric. Beautiful. Like all the books in the world. Like honey in his blood. 

 

James swallowed, blinking back those feelings, the guilt descending again. The guilt that had ravaged him in front of Sebastian. 

 

His mother looked at him expectantly, having said something else about the boy. James just smiled, and took out his homework.

"..Sebastian's going to be my best friend."

 


	5. 15.1

Smoking wasn't something that Sebastian had ever expected to take up, and yet here he was, puffing away behind the bike sheds, killing fifteen minutes while he waited for James. It was the end of the lunch hour, and if he didn't hurry up, then he was going to be late for German. And his teacher was a bitch. 

 

"Hey Seb."

Amanda's voice was an attempt at sultry, and Sebastian took a last drag of the cigarette before hurriedly grinding it under his heel, and turning to her with a broad grin. It had started happening only in the last six months.. the girls. He'd been scrawny before, gangly and skinny, but he was broadening out a little. Even James had commented on it, teasing him and poking at the new muscle. James had grown too - taller, broader, but still small. Slender. He'd lost the baby fat around his chin, and didn't wear his hair smoothed back like his mama liked anymore. 

 

Realising he was thinking about James - again - Sebastian turned to Amanda, who was sticking her chest out as she smiled at him, running a hand down his shirt. He felt his body respond, his mouth grow dry and his crotch stiff. 

"What are you doing behind here all alone?" She asked him in a seductive tone, and he cleared his throat, before coming up short for anything smart to say, and just shrugging with a smile instead. 

"Smoking."

He made the mistake of looking at her mouth, her lips slicked with sticky gloss, and swallowed. She smiled again, and leaned in, and his hands came to rest uncertainly at her waist. Their mouths met. Hers was warm, and he didn't doubt that his own tasted of smoke. The lipgloss slid, sticky, over his lips. This had been happening a lot lately, and hey, he wasn't complaining. He'd even managed to touch a few tits. He'd seen Amanda making eyes at him. Probably, she'd just followed him. 

 

Her hand found his, and he kissed her a little harder, clumsily, moving his hand when she guided him, expected to be taken to her chest. Instead, she guided his hand down beneath her skirt, between her legs, and he swore internally, suddenly panicking. He had absolutely no idea what to do. She was going to think that he was an idiot. Fuck.

 

His fingers found damp warmth, and he probed experimentally, still kissing her clumsily. She made a sound against his lips, and it was a spike of heat straight to his crotch, spurring him onwards to keep touching her. His other hand wandered up to her chest, and her tongue was in his mouth, everything warm and wet and absolutely fucking -

 

"Very nice, Sebastian."

Fuck.

 

Amanda sprang back, and Sebastian was left frozen where he was, his lips wet and his hands shoved hurriedly in his pockets. James stood, an eyebrow arched in amusement, all fifteen year old cockiness and an untucked shirt. His gaze swivelled to Amanda, and he looked her up and down, before giving her a rather scathingly bored; "..Run along."

She snorted, straightening her skirt and then flouncing off, Sebastian watching her go. He swore quietly, and palmed at himself in his school trousers, a little annoyed now that he had the leftover discomfort.

"We need to come up with some kind of rule." He muttered, following his friend out towards the field. "I was getting some. You couldn't have waited five minutes?"

"Oh sorry, I forgot that your new-found animal magnetism is more important than the business." James drawled, walking ahead a few steps. Sebastian rolled his eyes.

"It's not a-"

"It's a business." James interrupted firmly, not turning around. "And no, I can't just wait. I need you there."

 

Sebastian stopped walking, arms folded across his school shirt. He'd been playing this game for far too long, now. 

"You don't need me there. I don't do anything. I don't even say anything."

James sighed, and turned to face him. Brown eyes glinted amusedly, and Sebastian shifted where he stood. "Must we go through this every time?" He asked, and Sebastian shrugged. James rolled his eyes. "I need you there as a peacekeeper. A watchful eye."

Sebastian snorted. "You need me there so they don't try and beat the shit out of you when you screw them over." 

"Same thing."

"No it isn't. Any idiot can be your.. bodyguard. I don't wanna do it."

James' smile faded slightly, and he looked away for a moment. When his gaze returned to Sebastian, it was with that innocence he'd known for years, that spark of purity that he wanted to protect. The James that he still wanted to hold in his arms, and promise that it would be okay. 

"..I need you, Sebastian." He said quietly. "..Not just some.. 'idiot'."

Sebastian's resolve crumbled into dust, his arms falling away from his chest. He stepped closer, and James snapped out of it.

"Good." He said, and continued on down to the football field. "Glad we have that sorted out. And stop complaining. You get ten percent."

"It's not right." Sebastian grumbled, embarrassed at how easily he'd been swayed, and James waved a hand behind himself.

"It's just drug dealing. It's small fry."

Sebastian stopped, and grabbed his friend's arm, pulling him round to face him. James pulled a face, irritated. " _What?_ "

"Small fry. You said small fry. Like you've got bigger plans."

James didn't say anything. Just blinked up at him, those dark eyes still those of the five year old in a starfish on the ground with him, of the ten year old crying in his arms. Sebastian leaned in, his words a hiss.

"James. Tell me you haven't been killing again."

His friend didn't say anything for a moment, and then quietly, his eyes still on Sebastian's.   
"..I can tell you that. If that's what you want me to tell you."

Sebastian let him go, pushing him away with force, his face a grimace.  "I knew it." He said, and fisted his hands in his hair, pacing on the spot. He pursed his lips, feeling sick.  Feeling.. disgusting. He couldn't protect James, and he couldn't protect the world from James either. He rounded on him. 

"Who?" He yelled, not caring that his voice was echoing across the field, that the top button of his trousers was still undone, or that James was watching him with a kind of resignation. Pity.  " _Why?_ "

James took his arm, pulled him as hard as he could into the scrub beside the tennis courts, his words quiet and measured. 

"..You don't really want to know."

"Well I can't stop it now!" Sebastian spat back, and gave his friend a shove. "You're sick, James." He shook his head. "You know that? You're sick. You need help. You need to tell your mama. Tell your mama, and we'll get you help. They have.. tablets and stuff. Doctors for this kind of thing. I-"

"I'm not going to a doctor, Sebastian."

The words were quiet, final. James' fingers found his friend's lips, running over them lightly. Confused and too angry to play his friend's games, Sebastian batted them away. 

"Weren't we going to get married one day?" James asked, in calm amusement. The memory came back to Sebastian all at once. James with his soldier drawing on his belly, Sebastian with the taste of ink in his mouth, deciding that they should wed. It made his chest ache. 

"You used to be good." Sebastian answered, his tone a little calmer, but bitter. "..You didn't even speak when you were on a time out. Too scared of being in trouble. You just wanted to read the books."

James looked away. Looked at the ground, a flicker of that guilt passing over his features again. The kind Sebastian had seen when his friend was ten years old, after his first intentional kill. His first.. murder. The word put something cold in his stomach. 

 

James' eyes felt hot. It was only Sebastian who could do this to him, could make him face up to reality, to morality, to make his insides ache with a kind of terrifying grief. The other ninety nine percent of the time, he was fine. Even.. happy. The drugs made him money. The murders made his insides glow. But now.. Sebastian.. Moran. Only ever Sebastian Moran. 

His eyes were wet as he cycled numbly through the names. 

"Mr. Joseph, the groundsman.. He shouted at me for walking on the grass. Maria Thompson.. She cheated from my maths tests last term.. The lady from the greengrocers. She.. tried to give me a bag of spinach. Told me I was underdeveloped." He scowled at the last one, but blinked at the same time, and the tears rolled down his cheeks. Sebastian pulled him into a rough hug, and James grumbled against his chest. It was always a relief. There was never anything he could do afterwards, when the people were already dead. But the guilt.. the grief.. His James was still there. Somewhere.

 

"Please let me tell Brigid." Sebastian said quietly, into James' hair. "..She works at the hospital. She can find someone-"

"No doctors. And don't you dare tell my mama." James said, muffled against his school shirt. "I'm okay. I'm fine. I won't do it again. I promise. No more killing."

It was a lie. Sebastian knew it, even as he was nodding. 

"No more killing." He agreed hollowly, and then opened his arms, following James to the football field.

 

 

 

 


	6. 15.2

_'Come over tonight. Da's working late and Ronnie's at a sleepover.'_  
  
James had read the note around twenty times, and yet he still couldn't work out another meaning for it. He was sitting on his bed, reading it over and over again, and frowning. He went over to Sebastian's all the time. The pair of them probably had dinner at each other's houses more than they had dinner at their own - and he'd been using some of his drug money to pay his mama some housekeeping. She thought he worked at the butchers on a Saturday morning.  In the next town over of course, so that she wouldn't check. Usually, he spent the time with Sebastian. They'd sort through their drugs takings, or Sebastian would sit, playing on a gameboy while he read about physics or his serial killer books. His friend had been suspicious of those at first. But he just liked the stories. Just the stories.

 

He'd passed him the note today, in English. Neither of them had said another word about it, and in fact, Sebastian had been a little distant with him. He didn't like that at all. They were best friends. And Sebastian was.. important to him. Very important. His oldest friend, and the only one he knew that wasn't interested in the money or the business. Well. The business he was going to build. Right now, he was just selling drugs to the kids in his school. But soon.. He'd make something. Make something big.

 

And he wanted Sebastian there with him.

But he was beyond confused. He'd even caught him behind the bike sheds a week ago, knuckles deep in one of the girls in their year. He'd wondered if the sight should perturb him, but he'd watched for a few long seconds, hiding before he decided to make his presence known. It.. had actually.. 

 

His cheeks burned hot at the memory, and James rolled over onto his stomach, pressing his face into his pillow. Maybe Sebastian was confused. Gay, straight, what did any of it really mean? 

 

"Knock knock."

Brigid smiled at the sight of her son, wild black hair sticking up at all angles as he lay face down in his pillow. He turned over to look at her blearily, and she laughed, heading inside with the plate of brownies.

"I thought you might-" She began, but James had already taken three, and stuffed one into his mouth. "..Right. Well. Would you like to take one for Sebastian?"

"Who says I'm seeing Sebastian?" James shot back, and Brigid arched an eyebrow.

"You see him most days." She said simply, and then frowned. "Are you okay baby?"

"Don't call me that. I'm not a baby." He hid in the pillow again, and she bent down to ruffle his hair.

"You'll always be my baby."   She sat down on the bed. "Oh - and well done. I got a letter from the school - you're getting the highest in the sciences. Biology, Physics and.."

"Chemistry."

"It's fantastic, baby. Really, well done. I'm so proud."

James looked back at her and pulled a face, and she dove on him, tickling him in the sides until he was shouting at her, laughing as he told her to get out of his room. She obliged, going with a wink. 

"I'll leave a couple of these for Sebastian, then."

Maybe it wasn't only Sebastian who made him feel guilty.

 

-

 

In his own bedroom, Sebastian was doing much the same as James - except, rather than a note, he was folding and unfolding his army acceptance letter. He was reading the words over and over, struck by the crippling and conflicting feelings that kept hounding him. Pride, and happiness. And bitter, bitter worry at how James would react. At how he'd.. cope, in Sebastian's absence. He'd get leave of course, but not much of it. A year, he'd be gone. Minimum. And then after that, if they still wanted him..

 

It'd be a job. 

 

It was what he'd always wanted. To be a real soldier. Since before he could remember. 

 

The doorbell rang, and he hurriedly folded the letter again, stashing it beneath his mattress. He half jogged downstairs, smoothing his hair and despairing at his bad skin in the mirror, before opening the door. His stomach was in knots. James was his best friend. How the hell was he supposed to tell him that he was going?

 

James stepped inside, dressed in a t shirt and jeans, though Sebastian was still in his school uniform, and closed the door. 

"Nobody's in?" His friend asked uncertainly, and Sebastian shook his head. He'd thought it might be best that way, in case James.. cried, or.. got violent. The crying was probably more likely. Well. He hoped.

 

"Come up." He said, and James followed him up the stairs, pulling a lunchbox from behind his back. 

"Mama sends brownies."

"I love her."

"Me too."

His room was neat and tidy, but small, as to be expected in a house full of kids. Though Liam and Sam didn't live here anymore. James walked around, setting the brownies on his desk, and then running a hand over his noticeboard, finding a drawing of a soldier under all the other stuff.

"You drew me something like this once."

Sebastian smiled. "..I know. It was my best one."

"You always did like soldiers."

Sebastian's throat felt tight. "..Listen.. James.."

James turned, and walked over to him, sitting down on the bed beside him. He waited for him to sprawl back on the mattress, or sit against the wall but he didn't. Just sat there. Very carefully, like he was considering something. Sebastian opened his mouth to continue, and then James had turned to face him, his eyes on his mouth a split second before his friend's lips were on his own, hot and soft and urgent. 

 

Sebastian froze, utterly dumbstruck, confounded by James kissing him. James. His friend, James. His friend that he'd known since they were five years old, was sucking on his bottom lip. And he was somehow a much better kisser than Amanda. 

 

After a moment of hesitation, Sebastian kissed back, and James' hands found his school shirt, deftly, slowly unfastening the buttons and sliding it back off his shoulders. Sebastian shrugged out of it, and they broke the kiss to pull off James' t shirt, the both of them topless. The last time he'd seem James shirtless was when he was ten years old, and showing him the bruises from..

Sebastian put that out of his head. James had pushed him back into the pillows, climbed on top of him, was raking his fingers down Sebastian's chest. His heart thundered, and he had no idea what to do, no idea what James would want, would like, if this was even the right thing..-

"Stop thinking." James whispered, leaning down to capture Sebastian's mouth again. "It's just me."

"..That's why it's weird.." Sebastian said back against James' lips, but his hands came up to rest tentatively on his friend's back, sliding to his waist and then carefully, his hips. A slender hand dropped down and squeezed him through his trousers, and Sebastian groaned, mouth breaking away from James', who shuddered. 

 

"Do that again.." James whispered, and Sebastian could hardly refuse when that hand slid inside his trousers, inside his underwear and squeezed him, the moan dragged from his throat. 

 

Finally deciding that he was ok with it, he sat up a little, pulling off James' jeans, though his heart was in his throat at the sight of him just in his underwear. He pushed him down onto his back and then peeled those off too, leaning down to press his mouth to his chest, trailing hesitant kisses over his stomach. James' hands were forceful, pulling his head down to his crotch, and Sebastian rolled his eyes, before taking him into his mouth, a little unsure of what to do.

 

He took things slowly, sucking lightly, experimenting with moving his head back and forth, and laving his tongue over James' cock, his friend rocking up into his mouth with shuddering little moans of his own. The sounds were like nothing he'd ever heard, and Sebastian reached up to twine his fingers with James', only to have a tube of something pressed into his hand. He pulled off him to look, and then obediently squirted lubricant onto his fingers, and pausing.

"You have to.." James gestured vaguely, his cheeks pink, and Sebastian nodded, sliding his hand between his best friend's legs, using his other to hold his thighs apart. He watched his eyes flutter closed as he pressed one slick finger inside him, James' mouth open in a silent moan, his back arching when he finally pressed in a second, working them slowly. 

"Sebastian.." James moaned, and Sebastian wasn't sure he'd ever heard something so sweet, something that dragged something simultaneously warm and dark into his chest. He pressed another wet finger inside him and began to move them together, hoping that he was doing the right thing. Beneath him, James was trembling, slick with sweat, his fingers fisting in the bedsheets, and those doe eyes heavy and dark on Sebastian's. When he pulled out his fingers, his friend moaned again, loud enough to make him glad that no one was in. He lined himself up uncertainly, and then carefully, slowly pushed inside, James' hands on his chest keeping him going slowly.

 

They shared a look. A long, unspoken change between them, James whimpering into an open-mouthed kiss, and Sebastian swearing a little desperately, his friend's body warm and tight around him. James' eyes were a little dazed and hungry, and Sebastian's own mirrored the feeling as he began to move at last, slow, tight rocks that had both of them making small, choked sounds with the creaking of his single bed. 

"Am - I - hurting - you?" Sebastian rasped between slow thrusts, and James tipped his head back on the pillow, eyes closed and mouthing 'no', but unable to give it a voice. Seeing James like that beneath him - naked and tight around him, impossibly hot, impossibly crazy that this should happen.. That it should be him.. and James.. together..

Sebastian dipped his head and kissed at his best friend's neck, a hand clumsily finding James' own length, and beginning to stroke him. It was the beginning of the end - after a few long minutes of the stroking, James stuttered and whimpered, fingernails scratching paths into Sebastian's shoulders, his body tightening around him as he spilled onto his own pale stomach. Just the sight was enough to finish Sebastian off, and he choked off a curse word, seeing stars as he emptied himself inside his best friend. 

 

They were both panting, slick with sweat and tangled in Sebastian's bedsheets, and when he finally extricated himself, he laid on his back next to James, the both of them looking up at the ceiling and breathing hard. And then, rather automatically, James rolled over, and slid an arm around his waist, cuddling close. Sebastian rested his face in James' hair, their virginity gone.

 

The shock and bliss gradually subsided into guilt as Sebastian glanced across at the soldier picture on his noticeboard. He'd be leaving in three months, a week after his sixteenth birthday. How the hell had this happened? A kind of panic settled in his chest, but James was near asleep, kissing lazily at his shoulder, warm against him. He should feel happy right now, he knew. But he didn't. Because he was leaving him. Leaving him to his own fate, and that was a dangerous, terrible thing to do. 

"James.." He began, his voice a hoarse whisper against his best friend's hair. James hummed pleasantly, lifting his head to kiss Sebastian lightly, his lips soft against Sebastian's own. Guilt sliced through his chest again. James laid his head there, and murmured sleepy words.

"I'm never letting you go.. You're.." He yawned, and cuddled closer. "..You're going to be mine forever."

 

-

 

 

 


	7. 20.1

In Sebastian's four and a quarter years in the army, he'd always despised Jack Doherty. He was brash, overly confident, the kind of back-slapping idiot who went through the ranks fast - but Sebastian was right along side him, through ability rather than sucking up to the commanders. It had cemented something of a bitter rivalry between them, which would eventually lead to Sebastian Moran's scandalous dishonourable discharge.

 

Even now, he didn't think that he should have been disciplined as harshly as that. To be kicked out, dismissed, stripped of his Colonel status. They took away his guns, the guns that had become extensions of his own hands, just for a shot to the foot.

He hadn't been to know that Doherty was fucking the commander's daughter. When he wanted a promotion, he really wanted a fucking promotion.

 

Disgraced, angry, and tired of the world, Sebastian Moran sat on the plane home. He was disillusioned and exhausted. There was nothing for him at home. No one. His father had upped and moved to Kent for the last dregs of work, and his brothers were dotted over London. Ronnie lived with Sam now, going to a secondary school around the corner from where he lived. Sam was a stockbroker, and Liam worked in a supermarket. He'd gotten the letters. Da was doing well, though his knees were playing up.

 

James hadn't sent him a single letter. Not a breath of news had reached him, and he'd spent most nights of his first year away laying awake, fretting about what he was doing. If he missed him. If he was.. killing again. It hurt his chest, to think like that. To think about that guilt slipping away, that darkness taking over those sweet brown eyes.

 

It was laying there one night, staring up at a dusty canvas ceiling that he realised that he was in love with his best friend. That he probably always had been. 

 

That even though James scared him sometimes, made him want to shake him.. He wanted to pull him into his arms and protect him from that darkness that seemed to consume him. Bring him back to that giggling little boy, starfishing on the carpet with him.

 

He wondered what he looked like now. If he was any taller. If his laugh was still the same. If his body still felt as warm. He tried to dwell on that, rather than what he was doing. He found he couldn't live like that, couldn't work, thinking about death and 'business' and his James in trouble. It wasn't so much about right and wrong anymore. Shooting men on the commands of other men had rid him of that. He didn't really care, anymore. He was probably a bad person. They'd worn him down. He just wanted to know that his friend was okay. 

 

He hadn't been with another man again. A few girls worked on the base, and he'd spent nights with most of them. But no men. No other man.

 

The plane touched down, and he dragged his bag wearily through the airport, still dressed in his shamed uniform. Liam had offered him his sofa to stay on until he could find a job and a flat of his own, and so Sebastian headed for the taxi rank. A man stepped in front of him, and they almost collided, Sebastian swearing tiredly under his breath and trying to step to the side. The man stepped too.

 

Sebastian looked up with dark incredulity, not in the mood for this. The man was as tall as he was, and stiff faced, dressed in black and holding himself straight. He looked straight at Sebastian.

"Sebastian Moran?"

"What." Sebastian said flatly, feeling like he might fall asleep standing up. It seemed a little optimistic for Liam to have sent a car for him.

"My employer requests the pleasure of your company."

A hand found his arm, and it didn't feel kind. The man was about six or seven years older, and his grip was like steel. Still, Sebastian pulled himself free, staggering a little. He was exhausted. He just wanted to go to bed.

"I don't give a fuck who-"

"My employer goes by the name of Moriarty."

-

 

Even the sudden uneasy shock of hearing James' surname, spoken with authority like that, couldn't keep Sebastian awake. The car was expensive, with leather seats. The man took his bag, and put it in his boot.

 

And then he was being hauled from his seat, blinking himself awake again, the man looking fairly irritated with him as he pushed him up a path, into the glass doors of a large building, people in black milling around and looking professional.

"James works here?" Sebastian asked with uncertain gruffness, and the man looked across at him, still holding his arm in a vice grip. He didn't seem like he was going to answer, and then muttered; "..Who's James?"

Sebastian looked at him, confused. He just pushed him into a lift. He was getting pretty fucking tired of being pushed around. If he had his damned sniper rifle..

 

"Fifth floor." The man said, pressing the button and then ducking out. "Knock."

The doors closed.

 

-

Sebastian might have fallen asleep again, because he was jolted awake by the lift coming to a stop, leaving him standing in a slim corridor beside two walls, a frosted glass door in between. Wearily dragging himself forwards, he knocked on the door, knuckles echoing with hollow taps on the glass.

The door opened by itself, a slow and mechanical drag, revealing an office that made Sebastian's eyebrows shoot up. The carpet was plush, the desk and bookcases all dark, expensive wood. A leather chair behind a desk. No paintings. No pictures.

 

A noticeboard in one corner. A yellowing picture tacked to one side, ruining the professional look of the office. A child's picture. A soldier, drawn in green felt tip pen. Sebastian's chest ached at the memory. His eyes settled on it, and a voice came from one side of the room, quietly amused. 

"Call me sentimental. I did tell you that it was one of your best."

Sebastian's head snapped around. James was sat in a leather armchair and stood slowly, straightening a suit. An expensive suit, fitted right to his body, black and flattering with a waistcoat. His hair was smoothed back, how his mama used to like it, eyes as wide and brown as he remembered them. He took a hesitant step towards him, suddenly painfully aware of how disgusting he must look, straight off a long haul flight and dressed in a musty uniform. 

"..I.."  His throat felt tight. His legs were leaden. James stepped closer, all poise and careful deliberation. Sebastian threw his arms around him, screwing his eyes shut, squeezing him tight. He'd started wearing aftershave, expensive, he thought, but he could still smell him underneath. That 'James' smell - the smell of his mama's house, of a brand of shampoo, of something warm and human and James. 

"Fuck, I missed you." He growled, his eyes wet, arms still a vice grip around James' back. He was shaking, and wasn't sure if it was the shock or lack of sleep. 

"I know." James said simply, and kissed him on the cheek, still so careful.He pulled back, leaving Sebastian stood with his arms hanging, his eyes wet, looking a mess. 

"Every night I... All I.. wanted.. And I realised.." Sebastian shook his head, all the words, all the thoughts trying to come out at once, tumbling and mashing together in his head. "..You... you never wrote me."

"I didn't have time." James answered, and the words were a drawl. Almost flat, though his eyes hadn't once left Sebastian's own. He realised with an uneasy start that his friend hadn't shown any emotion, not like he had himself. The hug had been chaste, that kiss polite. His words amused, simple.

Sebastian's face crumpled in confusion. "..Didn't.. didn't you miss me?" He said, and took another step closer. 

"Of course."

Still flat. 

 

James' hand ran across the edge of his desk. Sebastian forced himself to look around, to blink away the wetness in his eyes that was suddenly mortifying. He folded his arms over his khaki chest.

"..What.. what is this place? You work here?" He asked, voice still a little thick. 

 

James arched an eyebrow. 

"..Work here." He repeated slowly, amusement falling into his voice again. "..I live here. On the top floor. I own this building."

Sebastian frowned, looking around himself. "..You.. own..?"

"And another one just like it. Yes. I've rather come along way since you left me."

Since you left me. The words were still simple, a slow drawl, though the last four had an accusatory edge. Sebastian thought he saw a flash of hurt in those brown eyes, but then they were dark again, boring into his soul. They weren't James' eyes. Not his James. He took a step back, towards the door.

"The business." He said slowly, and James smiled.

"The business." He nodded, and opened his hands. "It's certainly come a long way."

"You've been killing again." Sebastian said quietly, still walking backwards. His friend's eyes were looking less and less like the deep brown eyes he knew, and more and more like the eyes of a snake, of something dangerous, of an animal ready to strike. "..You've been killing ever since I left.."

James mirrored his steps, slow and cool, taking one forwards for every one he took back.

"Then perhaps.." He mused, in that quiet monotone, "You shouldn't have left."

Sebastian's back hit the door. He squared his shoulders, looked at James. Looked at this man, who used to be James. 

"..What do you want?" He asked him, low and resentful. Angry at himself. James was right. He'd left. He'd left him, and he'd known what he was leaving behind. What his best friend was capable of. Who was he kidding? James didn't want a reunion. He'd washed his hands of Sebastian.

"I heard you did well in the forces." James said, shadow of a smile on his lips. He tilted his head, assessing his prey. He winked. "Well.. until.." He pulled a face. Sebastian looked away, feeling ashamed. His cheeks glowed an angry red. James laughed, a quiet and humourless sound. That wasn't how James laughed. The high pitched giggle of a toddler that had deepened, but still kept that trilling joy into his teens.

 

Gone now.

"Dishonourable discharge. My, my.."

"..What do you want, James?" Sebastian asked again, words tired this time. He felt like he'd lost him. Like James had died, been lost back there in his fifteen year old bed, in fifteen year old love and ambition. 

"Nobody's called me James in years."

Sebastian didn't say anything. He ran a weary hand over his eyes. He was exhausted, shamed, and now he was grieving. He opened his eyes again, looking at him a touch desperately, like he could catch a glimmer of his best friend somewhere in this cold.. man. James continued, still staring straight at him. It was unsettling. He ran his hands down the lapels of his jacket, smoothing them.

"I have an opening for a sniper. A sharpshooter. I thought you might be interested."

Sebastian blinked, a little surprised. He wanted him to work for him? It didn't take much to figure out what a sniper would do, in this business. It was a cruel joke. Sebastian had begged him not to kill again, and now here he was, asking him to kill for him. He shook his head.

"You know I won't do that."  He gave a bitter laugh, closing his eyes. "I don't.. know who you are anymore."

Something else flickered in James' eyes, and he turned away, walking slowly back to the desk. He ran his hand over the wood.

"I wasn't asking, Sebastian."

The words put something cold into Sebastian's stomach, and the door creaked open beside him. A different man stood there to the one that had put him in the lift, though he had the same stiff back, the same black clothes. James continued, not looking at him, but speaking in that same bored drawl.

"Mathers will show you to your room. Get some rest."

Mathers put a firm hand on his shoulder, and Sebastian tried to shake him off. 

"You can't do this." He said gruffly, fists clenched by his sides, eyes fixing on his best friend. "James, for God's sake - I won't kill people for you-"

"You killed people for the state." James drawled, flicking through a file, still not even looking up. Sebastian tried to pace towards him, but that firm hand pulled him back harshly. "I rather think it's time you went freelance."

"You can't do this!" Sebastian yelled, his heart pounding, indignant anger surging in his chest, fury ruling his head. 

"I already have." James sat down in his chair, and put the file away. He wouldn't look at Sebastian. He was dismissed. 

"You're not him." Sebastian spat, being dragged from the room by Mathers, fighting him every bit of the way. "You're not James. You're not my friend, you're not the man I -"

"You're right." James said simply, and looked up at him. He smiled, and the smile was cold. "..I'm not."

Something plummeted into Sebastian' stomach, and he roared again, dragged from the room with Mathers' arms around both of his own. That drawling voice followed him down the hall.

"..Sleep well, my love."


	8. 20.2

The day after Sebastian came home was a bizarre one. James had Mathers and Stevenson check on him throughout the day, and they reported that after an initial tantrum, he merely slept for around sixteen hours. He told himself that he was doing the right thing. Of course, his friend would never agree to work for him. He'd thought that the dishonourable discharge might have indicated a change in that moral highness of his, but apparently not.

 

Moral highness didn't stop him from leaving me, James thought morosely.

 

He slept fitfully, staying up into the early morning to work on his latest figures. The business was successful - drugs and arms trades, with the occasional hit - but it was still in a young stage, and hard work was key. He had salaries to pay now, and logistics companies, hit men and more. He'd only owned this building for a couple of months, and before that had been working out of a warehouse. But knowing that his best friend was locked in a room down the hall made him.. uneasy.

 

He'd been killing since the day Sebastian had left. 

 

The day after he'd gotten on the plane, James had gone home and cried into his mama's arms, a fifteen year old murderer with a broken heart. Brigid had held him until he stopped. Made him beans on toast and a cup of tea, and told him that everything would be okay. He'd left the house that day, and hadn't been back in nearly five years. He called her every few days. She'd joined a walking club. She always pleaded with him to visit.

 

The kills were easy. Emotionless now, and not always prompted by a personal affront. A late shipment, an ignored threat, even just a recruit getting on his nerves. James flew off the handle easily, and his men had learned quickly. He hadn't been sure that he wanted Sebastian close again. Not after he'd left the first time. But he supposed he'd rather keep him close than have him somewhere else in the city, living a life without him. He supposed he did love him, if he was capable of such a thing. 

 

James sat now in his office again, informed a few minutes ago that Sebastian was awake. Awake and pacing in his room. It was a nice room, on James' floor, hardly a cell. He'd had Stevenson take up some tea and toast. Stevenson had given him an odd look, and James had shot back a scathing one, the man hurrying away. Two men sat in the chairs in front of him, the three of them discussing a deal. Arms deal, with a middle eastern country. James felt restless. Unable to concentrate. They were boring him, and he didn't appreciate being bored. 

He'd just speak directly with their boss, instead. It would be a risky move, but never mind.

 

"Mathers." He called, and the man stepped into the room, gun slung across his stomach. James ran a hand seemingly nonchalantly over the back of his neck, the two men stopping speaking to look back at the gunman, who - obediently at James' signal - shot them both in the back of the head, one after the other.

"..Thank you." James said, and rose. "I'm going to visit Moran. Has he been fed?"

"Yes, sir."

"..Restrained?"

He felt uneasy at that. But he didn't want anyone else in there when he was talking to his friend. And as things were.. he supposed Sebastian might try and hurt him. He had no choice.

"Yes, sir. By the wrists,  after he finished eating."

"Clean this up. Wash the upholstery."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't disturb me unless the city is burning."

"No, sir."

-

 

James took the lift up to his floor, which was a long corridor with his suite at the end. Strictly out of bounds by his employees, and punishable by death if they came up this far. The door was directly in front of the lift doors, and James stepped closer, listening for a moment before stepping inside.

 

Sebastian was laying on the bed, laying crossways rather than lengthways, his wrists bound and tethered to one of the metal bedposts. It was a nice room. Airy. Cream carpet and plush mattress. But the way his friend was staring at him, it might have been a prison cell. 

"Hello." James said, keeping his eyes on him. Sebastian glared back.

"You're sick. You know that? Sick."

"Is it still a thought of yours that I need a doctor?" James mused, walking to sit by him on the bed, his friend immediately sitting up and moving away, closer to the bedpost. James rested his hands, entwined at his knee, his legs crossed.

"No." Sebastian said quietly, coldly. "I don't think anyone can help you now."

The words were a shallow cut to his chest, but James ignored them. He wouldn't let Sebastian play him like he used to, bring out that guilt. 

"I want you to work for me. You have talent. I only take the best."

"You want me, because you want to rub it in my face." Sebastian said, gruff. "You want to punish me for leaving, you want to show me what it did to you." He laughed and shook his head. James blinked, keeping his expression carefully composed. Sebastian went on.

"Maybe you'd always have ended up like this. Fuck, maybe you'd have killed me too. Maybe you still will."

"Never." James said, the first word that Sebastian had heard him utter that wasn't completely flat. A ripple of something ran through him, and his gaze snapped to his best friend - in time to see that cold shield come back down. 

"Tell me." Sebastian said, words quiet and low. "..Did you kill her?"

"Her?"

"Your mother. You killed your mother."

James' mouth fell open slightly and he stood, rage simmering in his veins. A shadow of a smile quirked on Sebastian's lips, and James saw that he'd been played. 

"We don't talk about her." He said smoothly, trying to regain his composure. "I have no family."

Sebastian smiled, eyes hard on James. "She's still your  _mama."_

James' hand shot out, and he slapped his friend hard across the cheek, his words trembling. 

"We don't talk about her." He growled, and Sebastian laughed, bitter and breathless.

"So you do care. You still love your mama, and you won't kill me. That's sweet, James. Tell me, are we still getting married?"

Insolent. He was being insolent. James' heart was beating fast, and he stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. Mathers was halfway up the hall, notepaper in hand - apparently the city was burning - and he pointed into the room, his voice a ragged shout.

"Don't just stand there you idiot! I want him beaten."

He snatched Mathers' gun, and the man nodded, cracking his knuckles as he disappeared into Sebastian's room. His heart calmed, and began to ache when he heard the sounds. The sharp slaps, thuds of knuckles on skin. Sebastian's quiet grunts, or curses, exclamations of pain. He stood motionless outside the room, still clutching Mathers' gun when the recruit came out twenty minutes later, his hands bloodied.

"I want you to stay on this floor." He told him, and Mathers nodded.

"Yes, sir."

He took back his gun hesitantly, and walked down the corridor. His mouth dry, James headed back inside.

 

-

 

Sebastian sat on the edge of the bed, his hands still held unnaturally to one side of him, still connected to the bedposts. He had clean clothes - a black uniform, that he'd been told to change into, but he'd remained in his worn army clothes, the vest now covered with droplets of his blood. He hung his head as James entered, a bloody nose dripping into his mouth, rolling off his chin. His beautiful face, bruised and swollen, and a wheeze to suggest he'd been punched elsewhere too.

"..Sebastian." James said, a simple greeting. He pushed away the ache. Sebastian spat blood at his feet. 

James put his hands into his pockets. 

"It doesn't have to be this way."

His best friend looked up at him, hatred in his blue eyes. The same blue eyes that had found James', all those years ago on the playground. The blue eyes that had held his own, when they lost their virginity. The blue eyes that had grown wet as he wailed, as he held James and told him that he was sorry. That he was leaving.  His best friend hated him. James' own eyes felt hot.

"Fine." Sebastian said. His words were a breathless rasp, and he shook his head at James in disgust. "..Fine. I'll work for you." He coughed, squeezing his eyes shut, and then spoke again a moment later. "..I'll work for you. I'll kill for you. I don't.. I don't fucking care."

James didn't say anything. Quietly, he took his handkerchief from his suit pocket, and bent down, kneeling on the carpet. He took Sebastian's chin in his hand, and his friend stiffened. James dabbed carefully at his poor face, and Sebastian tried to pull away, wincing.

"Don't touch me." He growled. "..I don't want you near me. I don't know you."

James stilled. He dropped his gaze, and then he pressed the handkerchief into Sebastian's hand. He stood and walked back to the door, gritting his teeth. His eyes felt hot, and his throat thick. 

"..You'll get your first job in a few days." He said. "..I'll have someone come and take those army clothes." He faced away, faced the door, faced anything but Sebastian. 

His friend gave a bitter laugh, and the chains of his wrists clinked as he shifted on the bed, probably lying back down. 

"I'm still your friend, Sebastian." James said quietly, smoothly, after a long moment of hesitation. 

 

Sebastian's answer came almost immediately, low and morose. Like he was grieving.

"My friend is dead."

 


	9. 25.1

"Can't you stay longer?" The woman purred, red hair splayed on the pillow behind her, skin smooth in the morning glow, though her eye make-up was smeared across her face. Her lips were red from Sebastian's biting kisses and he sat up naked, running a hand through blonde hair. He flashed her a slow smirk, eyes running along her body. She pushed down the sheet further, baring herself to him, and he turned away with a regretful smile.  
  
"Sorry, sweetheart. I have to work."  
  
"Bore."  
  
He stuck a crumpled cigarette between his lips and lit it, taking a deep drag before sauntering naked to the window, leaning a hand on the frame to look out at London. The damned cigarette tasted of the whiskey that he'd spilt over the pack last night, and it was sour on his breath in the early morning light. He felt her eyes on him from the bed, but didn't look at her. She could admire the view. He didn't remember her name, and quite frankly, didn't give a fuck if he never saw her again.   
  
"So what do you work as?" She asked him, stretching on the bed, and Sebastian glanced over, eyes drawn to the curve of her body. He shrugged, stubbed out his cigarette. He needed to leave.  
  
"Better you don't know, sweetheart." He murmured, and sauntered back over, hunting for his underwear. She reached up, climbed lithely to her knees, took him into his mouth as he stood by the bed. Sebastian swore in a low murmur, fisted a hand in her hair. His clothes were forgotten.

 

Jim could wait ten more minutes.

 

-

 

He'd been calling him Jim for about four years, now. No.. no, it had to be closer to five. Fuck.

 

Sebastian shook his head, straightening his jacket and lighting another cigarette as he climbed from his car, parked discreetly behind the building, and began to make his way up the fire escape. He held his kit bag over one arm, and could feel his phone vibrating in his pocket. He'd ignored it all night, and saw no reason to answer it now. He knew his mark. He didn't need a lecture about his fucking drinking. Again. It was bad enough that he lived in a prison. It was bad enough that his best friend was his Boss and captor, for fuck sake.

 

He'd be lying if he said he didn't like the job. 

 

It was easy work, and he was good at it. Morally dubious, but who cared? He'd shot men dead before, and he shot men dead now. They were just different kinds of enemies. Bankers and drug mules, arms traders or city bigwigs. All were bad people in some way, Sebastian liked to reason. He began to set up his gun and tripod with practiced ease, the faint aroma of gun oil reaching him from where he'd cleaned his equipment last night, before going out on the town.

Jim allowed that. Allowed him to come and go, given his skill at getting the marks. They spoke, now. Stiffly civil, business only. Never about the past. It was amazing, Sebastian often thought, how he could look so similar to that little boy, that five year old with the wide brown eyes and a love for books and his mama. Look so similar, and yet be completely different.

 

He'd long given up trying to see a glimpse of his old friend. James was dead. 

 

He'd be lying too, if he said he didn't bring the women back to his room sometimes just to piss his friend off. It was just like the time he'd caught Sebastian behind the bike sheds, except now he was bragging about it. But Jim never commented. They spoke about the jobs, and only the jobs. Who to kill, why he was being killed. Like in the army, Sebastian had excelled through the ranks, though he'd started high. He was the only live-in 'recruit', though he wasn't stupid enough to think that he could leave. Not ever.

 

But he was clothed. Fed. He saw his Da and brothers occasionally.. He got to fuck on a regular basis, drink and smoke. And hey, if there was one thing that had come from all this, as fucking ironic as it all was..

 

James didn't kill any more.

 

No. No, because Sebastian did it for him.

 

Some days, he fucking despised himself.

 

-

 

It was the same routine. Had been for near five years, but if he had to give James - Jim.. it was Jim - something, then he had to say that it fucking worked. In five years, they'd turned over something close to eight billion, and he owned another three buildings. The money was ploughed back into the business, and Sebastian was kept near the top. Kill, meeting, tactics, invest. 

He was sat in Jim's office now, sitting across the desk from him, his old best friend speaking coolly to Mathers, who'd just returned from a kill. Stevenson sat beside him, writing notes. 

"Of course," Jim continued, that cool, measured tone that barely held a hint of his Irish drawl. "The current CEO will have to go, but Johnson isn't an imbecile. He'll recognise that immediately. I expect he'll flee abroad, my prediction is Spain. Stevenson, if you can't take him out before he goes, you'll be going after him. And you'll be paying for it."

He gave one of those simpering smiles, and Sebastian's eyes wandered to the drawing board in the corner. That soldier picture was still tacked up, curling at the edges. He didn't know why Jim kept it there. It looked stupid anyway. 

"Sebastian-"

"I'll be taking out the Spanish ambassador." Sebastian interrupted in a low, bored mutter. "..Yeah. Got it."

Jim smiled, and turned to Mathers, passing him a file. "I expect you to infiltrate the offices and find me the accounts folder. On the database, obviously. It might be encrypted. Take one of my IT boys with you."

Sebastian had sat in hundreds of these meetings. Strategy, planning - they were Jim's bread and butter. When he'd left the room once, Sebastian had gone through the desk drawers, found book after book on physics, advanced mathematics, even chess. He lived for the stuff. And then.. At the bottom, a dusty old science textbook with a DNA strand on the cover. He'd slammed the drawer, rage hot in his chest. It was those little reminders that got him, that dragged him back to who his friend used to be. That childish excitement over words that he shouldn't even have been able to pronounce.

 

His gaze settled on the desk now, as if x-raying the contents. Jim had fallen silent, taking a call on his phone, and Mathers and Stevenson were talking quietly, Mathers gesturing to the file. Stevenson was nodding. Sebastian watched them with disinterest. He wanted a cigarette. A glass of whiskey wouldn't go amiss.. he had a bottle in his bottom drawer in his room. Hell, he needed to change his bed, too..

"What?"

Sebastian's head snapped up. The word was Jim's, but it wasn't Jim. It didn't sound like him. Not bored or cool, nor seething angry, which seemed to be his two default attitudes these days. Jim Moriarty was undoubtedly scary, and Sebastian saw it in the faces of the men who served him, had felt it himself when Mathers had beat him to a pulp at his command. Had felt it hanging over him, doing his bidding for the past five years.

 

But the word was small, and frightened. Not Jim.

 

James.

 

Sebastian was on his feet in a second, his hands on James' arms as he looked at him, his expression a mixture of panic and fear. Mathers and Stevenson were gawping at him in surprise, at the risk that would come from putting his hands on the Boss. And Jim should have turned, should have pushed Sebastian off, should have ordered him beaten or shot for the indignity. But he didn't. He didn't even seem to notice.  His eyes focused on Sebastian's shirt, mouth open a little, pupils darting back and forth as he listened to the voice on the phone.

"Get out." Sebastian said gruffly to the two men, and Mathers looked back at him indignantly, Stevenson giving a stuttered half laugh. But Jim turned, the phone held tightly in his fist, and screamed the words so loudly that they made Sebastian's ears ring.

_"Get out!"_   


 

To say the two men ran, tripping over each other to the door would not be an exaggeration.

"What is it?" Sebastian asked, his voice gentler than Jim deserved. But hell, here he was again. Ten years after they'd been close, and James could still bring him running. He squeezed his upper arms. "..James."

The name seemed to bring him out of his trance, and Jim clicked off the call, meeting Sebastian's gaze. His eyes were wide and brown, fear and innocence, thrown back to being a child again. 

"She's in hospital." He said, his words meek. Quiet. He opened his mouth to explain, but Sebastian frowned and nodded, understanding.

Of course, he still cared.

"Your mama."

James nodded, his bottom lip trembled, and he met Sebastian's gaze - before all at once squeezing his eyes shut, and pulling out of his hold. He cleared his throat, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"We're going. Now." He barked, voice back to that cool authority, though there was something more behind it. "You're driving."

"..Alright." Sebastian agreed simply, and a set of keys was pressed into his hand, shaky. Jim was already walking for the door, and he followed after solemnly, thinking about James' mama. About.. Brigid? 

 

He remembered that day, when she'd walked him home, both he and James crying after his father's drunken onslaught. She'd bent down and wiped their tears with a tissue from her cardigan sleeve. She'd explained that sometimes, people hurt other people. That it was wrong, very wrong, but that sometimes, those people couldn't help it. That she was very, very sorry. She'd hugged Sebastian, and he'd hugged her back for a few minutes. He didn't have a mother of his own. It had felt nice. She'd pulled James in too, both of them hugging Brigid, crouched down on the pavement, both boys still sniffling. 

She'd bought them both lollysticks from the shop on the way back. Sebastian remembered seeing her face, pinched when she looked into her purse. 

-

 

Sebastian hadn't been alone with Jim for five years, not for more than a few moments at least. Both of them tried to avoid it; Jim would always have one of his goons standing in the room with them, and never came to Sebastian's room. His marks for the day were given to him on notepaper. And if Jim was alone, Sebastian would leave the room. 

 

He closed the car door, locking them into silence. He started up the engine, carefully not looking at him, and pulled out of the underground lot, marveling at the black Porsche. It was a beautiful car. 

 

James was restless. His foot tapped anxiously in the footwell, hands clasped together in his lap. He was wearing one of his sharp suits, and unconsciously began to flatten his hair down, as his mother had done, Sebastian knew. 

 

This was uncharted territory. The last time they'd been alone, James had held his chin in his hand, trying to clean away the blood from his beating with a silk handkerchief. Sebastian had pushed him away, angry and indignant. The void had only grown between them, Sebastian disgusted and betrayed. And James.. well. 

 

He'd given up on Sebastian a long time ago, it seemed.

 

"I'm sure she'll be okay." He said at last, voice strained. The past sat heavy between them. Childhood, adolescence, and a betrayed start to adulthood.

"She was attacked." Jim answered coolly. "On her way to walking club."

Sebastian glanced at him, perturbed. "..Attacked by-"

"One of my enemies. Undoubtedly."  

Sebastian fell silent. Jim stared ahead, stiff. 

 

"..How did they-"

"Find her? I don't know. Maybe census records. I'll find out."  A dangerous undercurrent ran under Jim's words, simmering with anger despite them being calm. 

"Do you know what-"

"Stabbed."

Sebastian winced. Brigid, stabbed. It seemed a new kind of wrong, morally perverse, unjust. She was a nice lady, really had a heart of gold. Sometimes he wondered how the Jim he knew now even came from her. Before of course, he remembered his father. 

 

He reached for the radio dial, and Jim slapped his hand away, quick as a whip. Sebastian pursed his lips together, but didn't say anything. 

"Thank you for coming."  Jim said after a moment, a courteous drawl. But flat. Unfeeling. Sebastian nodded, once.

"..Didn't have much of a choice."

Thick silence again. The hospital was still ten minutes away. And it'd be a long ten minutes, if it was as tense as this. He distracted himself by looking out of the window, focusing on his driving, watching the trees and flats, the roadworks and shops float by. The next time he risked a glance at Jim, he caught him looking at him, and the both of them looked away hurriedly, Jim shifting to fold his arms over his chest. 

"..Are we almost there yet?"

"..Ten minutes."

 

"..I should have brought Stevenson. He drives like a maniac."

Sebastian nodded, mouth quirking at the corner. "..Maybe. But then you'd have to tell him the truth."

He felt Jim's scowl burning into him before he saw it, and when he spoke, the words were clipped. The amusement was fake. "..And what is 'the truth'?"

Sebastian shrugged, glancing out of the window as he turned a corner.  "..That you still love your mama. You were nearly crying on the damn phone."

Jim snorted, looking out of the window. The beat passed, the time missed for his snappy comeback, and Sebastian looked across, watching him. Jim swallowed, and pursed his lips flat.

"Don't be an imbecile."

"..Secret's safe with me."

"Idiot."

"Mummy's boy."

A shadow of a smile ghosted over James' lips, gone as quickly as it'd arrived. The hint of a spark settled in Sebastian's stomach. He turned back to the road. Silence fell again, and then in the same calm drawl, Jim began to ask him about the ambassador job, questioning his positioning, where he was going to stand, if he knew where he lived. Sebastian assured him crisply that he'd done his research, and they pulled into the hospital car park, a little less.. tense.. than before.

 

Sebastian wasn't sure he'd ever seen his friend - ex.. friend.. - move so fast. The moment he was parked, James was out of the car and running for the lifts, and Sebastian swore before following, practically chasing him through the car park. 

"James - Jim - for fuck sake-"

He managed to slam a hand between the lift doors just before they closed, his friend scowling at him as they went up, tapping his foot anxiously. 

"We'll need to get out at recept-"

"She's on the third floor. Ward nine." 

Sebastian shut up. The doors pinged open, and Jim was near running again, Sebastian grabbing his arm to pull him back into a brisk walk. James looked at him as if he was burned, and Sebastian gave him a pointed look. "..They won't let you in there if you look stressed. You'll stress her out, too. Calm the fuck down."

They reached the ward doors, and Jim stopped dead. Just stared at them like they might come to life and attack him, and Sebastian frowned. 

"Aren't you going in?"

"..Come with me."  It was an order, not a request, though his voice was tiny. It was a crack in that cold shield, a whisper of his old friend, and Sebastian nodded wordlessly, and opened the ward door. James stepped inside after a moment, and a passing nurse directed them to a Brigid Moriarty. They walked together, and Sebastian could feel James almost gravitating to his side. His chest burned hot with a kind of shame, hating that hope had sparked in his heart. That old feelings were stirring, dusty and locked away.

"..Mama.." James whispered, and the sound was a pitiful squeak, Sebastian hanging back as his friend walked timidly to his mother's bedside. Brigid smiled tiredly at him, as beautiful as she'd used to be, but with grey in her hair now, wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. She looked pale. Connected to drips. She lifted wired hands, and cupped Jim's cheeks as he got closer to her, leaning in to kiss him on the forehead. 

 

James burst into tears, and leaned down against her, and Sebastian swallowed, looking around awkwardly. It was one of the most bizarre things he'd ever seen. He regularly saw the ruthless side of his friend's personality now. Those smiles that had, on occasion, caused a recruit to lose control of his bladder. The orders to kill that were simple and emotionless. The order to beat Sebastian five years ago, that had shown him what his best friend was capable of. The darkness inside him was vast - and momentarily quashed by a boy's love for his mother.

 

"There you are, baby.." Brigid said quietly, her voice hoarse and quietly pleased. "Didn't take much for you to visit, hm?" She patted him on the back, closing her eyes. Sebastian couldn't look away. 

"I'm sorry.." James whimpered, "I'm sorry, I am.. I couldn't.. I.. It isn't that I.. didn't want to.."

"James." Brigid shook her head, and kissed him on the cheek. She squeezed him a little tighter. "It's okay. I'm just fine, now."

James sat back a little and sniffed, eyes flicking self-consciously to Sebastian and then away. Brigid reached up, wiping her thumbs beneath her son's eyes. 

"There, now. You even brought Sebastian to see me." She smiled warmly, and held out a hand to him. Sebastian stepped closer, and closed his fingers around hers, sitting down gingerly on the chair at the side of her bed.

"..Hi, Brigid." He said quietly. Her hand was small and warm. It seemed only yesterday that it had been larger than his own, and comforting. He could only imagine how James felt, even if his emotion seemed.. crazy. He'd seen too much of the psychopath. Of 'Jim'. 

 

"I'm so pleased you two are still friends.." She croaked quietly, swallowing as if about to cry. She smiled. "You always were so taken with one another."

James and Sebastian shared a look, just a sheepish glance at each other. 

 

Sebastian cleared his throat. "..Did you get a good look at your attacker, Brigid? Did you see what he looked like..?"

Brigid gave a sad smile again, and shook her head. James was still sat beside her on the bed, and she squeezed his hand again, running over the back of his knuckles with her thumb. "..I'm afraid I didn't. Whoever it was jumped me from behind."

Sebastian nodded. "..Did he leave the knife?"

Brigid shook her head again, and Sebastian sighed. Little to no chance of finding the fucker, then. 

 

"Do you remember when you were at nursery school, James?" Brigid asked, smiling again in memory, voice quiet. James, silent, shook his head, before pausing. His eyes flicked back to Sebastian.

"..Some things."

"You came home one day, and asked me if babies came from the ground." She chuckled, though the sound was dry in her throat, and Sebastian looked around for some water. "You said Sebastian had told you so, and 'don't they come from eggs, mama'?"

James smiled, but it faded fast, his eyes on the hospital sheets. Sebastian's chest throbbed a little, and he passed Brigid the glass with a smile.

"..Don't they?"

Brigid swatted him with a hand, and he laughed quietly. He felt James' eyes on him.

 

"I'll.. go and find one of the doctors. See if they can tell us what's going on." Sebastian said, standing, and Brigid nodded. She turned her attention back to her son, and smoothed a hand over his hair.

"..Well then. Are you going to tell me what you've been up to, baby?"

 

Jim rolled his eyes. "..Not a baby."

"You'll always be my baby."

Sebastian smiled, sad and small, as he turned the corner.

 

-

 

They didn't leave the hospital for several hours, and even then it was because a nurse was shooing them out, visiting time having ended hours ago. They'd sat with Brigid while she ate dinner, and then the three of them had played cards, James finding it hard to brag about his successful business without telling his mama exactly what it was that he did.

 

"We work together, actually." Sebastian had answered, feeling James' eyes on him again - or more likely, Jim's, threatening him not to say anything - when asked about his own work. "James is my boss." He waggled his eyebrows and Brigid had hooted with laughter, squeezing his hand. 

"And how's that working out?" She joked, knowing her son. Or at least, thinking that she knew him.

 

 James dropped his gaze to the tiles.

 

They walked together now, silent as they left, the corridors still busy. James' shoes clacked on the floor, and he was avoiding Sebastian's eye. Sebastian himself was lost in memory. Trying to figure out how they'd gotten here from all those years ago. From being fifteen, warm in each other's arms..

"..Sebastian.." James began, and his voice was quiet. Not flat. Not cool, or detached. Just quiet. Sebastian looked over at him, and he glanced up, looking a little morose. 

"..Yeah?"

"..I'm sorry."

He didn't need to ask what for, and James didn't need to say. They both knew. His chest felt like it was cracking down the middle, and he just nodded. He'd do it. He'd let it all go. The imprisonment, against his will at first. The death that he'd caused. The betrayal. He'd let it go, because it was fucking James, and his voice was so damned small, all this time, the same boy hiding underneath all that.. darkness.

"I know."  He murmured. A hand slid against his own, squeezed, and then was gone, James walking out ahead of him, through the hospital doors, heading to the car park.

 

And the gunshots began.

 

 


	10. 25.2

Sebastian was still reeling from that hand on his own, staring after James - he didn't even hear the gunshots until he saw his friend fall, his blood splattering crimson over the steps. And then he was running, like in slow motion, his legs heavy and his heart in his mouth, drawing his own gun from his waistband as he came to crouch over him. His heart slammed against his ribs, and he shook James by the shoulder, brown eyes flickering been blankness and a bleary confusion. 

 

Gun hand still extended, Sebastian yelled out for everyone to 'fucking MOVE!' as he half carried Jim down the steps, an arm around his middle and blood soaking through his jacket. James groaned, a low and pained rasp of sound that tore at Sebastian's insides as he pulled him behind a car, sheltering them from any more shots. Three nurses had run over, all speaking in urgent tones as they fussed over his friend, Sebastian trying to keep one eye on the car park as he surrendered his jacket to plug the wound.

"Don't you dare fucking die." He snapped down at him, his voice a growled plea. "Don't you dare. Not now."

"He shot me." James managed, between pained breaths. "How dare.. he.. shoot.. _me._.-"

Sebastian rolled his eyes, a touch relieved. The nurses continued fussing, and another shot rang off the wing mirror beside his face, all three of the women screaming and leaping backwards.  Sebastian swore, ducking down beside the car and then getting onto his stomach, looking beneath the vehicle. People were running, panicking, but one pair of feet walked calmly, unhurried towards where he lay. Towards where James bled, beside him. 

A hand clung onto his own again as he sat up on his haunches, heading around the other side of the car, and James' hand was wet with blood, but firm. 

"You die and I kill you." He rasped, and Sebastian smiled, arching an eyebrow at him in response. He had to pull himself free, head around the back of the car - taking his chance and springing to his feet, just as the hitman advanced on James' end of the car. Sebastian had three bullets in the fucker before he'd even spotted the sniper, and grinned exultantly as he went down, that gun clattering on the pavement. A few seconds later, and Jim was dragging himself to his feet, said gun in hand, emptying every bullet in the chamber into the dead man, his face contorted in pain and rage. 

The nurses, screaming, ran for cover. Sebastian ran for James. They didn't need police intervention. He hadn't carried him since they were seven or eight years old, when James had gone through a phase of demanding piggy backs - but he lifted him as if he was that light still, and ran for the car park, James clinging onto that gun and gritting his teeth against the pain.

 

-

 

An hour and a half later, they sat in James' suite, his friend laying in the middle of an enormous bed, his middle swaddled in bandages beneath a set of silk pajamas. His hair was a mess, the way he'd worn it when he was a teenager, and he had a laptop open on his blanketed legs,  taking care of the day's business. Sebastian held a lidded class cup of juice up his lips, straw in Jim's mouth. Personal damned slave.

"..No rest for the wicked." He'd said, when Sebastian had protested. The doctor had only left twenty minutes ago,and had ordered bed rest. The bullet had missed everything important, luckily. Sebastian was almost certain that the second round of shots, when James was already crumpled on the steps, wouldn't have missed. 

 

They'd been sat in silence for a while, Sebastian wondering if he ought to leave. He was still covered in blood, and James was working. No time to talk about.. well. Anything. 

"This doesn't change anything."  Jim's voice was cool as he headed towards the door, and Sebastian stopped, turning back to look at him. James' gaze was almost reproachful. "..You still work for me. I still pay your wages. If you tell anyone where we went today, I'll have you beaten so hard that you don't remember your own name."

Sebastian gave a mock salute, words sarcastic. "Got it, Boss."

"Don't call me that."

He rolled his eyes and turned to leave, and Jim's voice came again, quieter this time.

"..Stay."

 

Sebastian stilled, and frowned at James, chewing on the inside of his cheek. If he was clever, he'd leave. Go back to his little room, live his little sniper life and never make the mistake of getting involved with James again. Clearly, Jim didn't feel comfortable showing that side of himself anymore. He should just let it go, see him as Boss. As off limits.

 

He sat back down beside him, sitting against the headboard. In his bed. 

"It was the Scandinavian." Jim said after a moment, still sipping at that straw from his cup of juice. "I should have known they wouldn't accept seven mil."

"..The Scandinavian?" Sebastian repeated a little cluelessly, not remembering that job. James rolled his eyes.

"It's obvious. They attacked.. her.. and then waited until I went to visit. I should have been more careful."

"They couldn't have known-"

"Be quiet."

Sebastian bristled, annoyance flaring in his chest. He'd never get used to that. Jim spoke again after a minute, pushing the cup into his hand and turning back to his laptop.

"I want you to be my bodyguard."

The words hung in the air for a second, and then Sebastian laughed, a sound that was both shocked and incredulous. 

"I'm not a _bodyguard._ "

"You can still shoot people from the rooftops. Don't fret."

Sebastian turned to look at him, Jim's words dryly amused, still finding it a little weird that they were sitting on a bed. He shook his head. It was out of the question. He needed to get further away from Jim, not stick to his fucking side, scouting for attackers. He made to stand, but Jim's fingers were a sudden vice grip around his forearm, his eyes dark and fixed on Sebastian's. His words were low, serious.

"You're the only one with a vested interest in my wellbeing. It makes sense. My other men could be bribed or-"

"A vested interest." Sebastian interrupted, repeating the words with flat indignation, his eyebrows raised. He pulled his arm free. "Don't flatter yourself."

Something flickered through those dark eyes. Hurt, Sebastian realised. It felt good. God, did it feel good, after all this time. 

A moment passed, and then a smile spread across Jim's lips, slow and maddening.

"A part of you despises me." He summarised aptly, in a voice that was startlingly low. Something flipped over in Sebastian's stomach. He didn't say anything, merely held Jim's gaze. His old friend stared him out, and then reached up, and slapped him hard across the cheek.

Sebastian snapped. 

 

He forgot about James' injury, about the bed rest orders, about their new impasse. He threw himself at him with a roar, and Jim clambered out of the way, Sebastian grabbing him by an ankle and landing a hard punch to his stomach, close to the bullet wound. Jim cried out through gritted teeth and kicked out at Sebastian, catching him between the legs and making him double over, the two of them rolling off the bed onto the floor. Teeth sank into his shoulder, and Sebastian yelled again, hitting out with his fists and catching his friend in the chest, sending him flat onto his back. He'd barely had time to crawl over him before Jim was clawing at his chest and shoulders, eyes raging and the scratches burning like hellfire. 

 

Sebastian punched him hard in the face. James got a leg free, and kicked Sebastian in the ribs, sending him onto his side. He brought James with him by his hair, and then James' was kicking him hard, anywhere he could reach. Sebastian pushed him down hard, sitting on his legs and pinning his hands out by his sides, his teeth gritted in the rage that had been unleashed at last. 

James screwed his eyes shut beneath his friend, not wanting to see the fists flying towards him before they hit. They were scrapping like children, dirty fighting, a playground brawl. But why did Sebastian have to be so damned difficult all the time?

He opened his eyes when the hits didn't come, panting as he looked up at his sniper, equally breathless. His eyes slid to James' lips, and James' fingers twined with Sebastian's, something feeling heavy in his chest. He hurt all over - his face, his legs, his stomach definitely.. But Sebastian leaned down and kissed him, and rather automatically, he kissed him back.

He tasted like home. 

 

It was terrible.

Jim shoved him off with a harsh push, taking his chance, and rolled onto his side, getting onto his feet and squaring off against him. Sebastian knelt on the floor, just looking at him. He looked tired. So tired. 

 

James swallowed, looking away for a moment. He was torn between two parts of himself, old and new. Sebastian.. just didn't understand. It had been a hard day, his mother.. the shooting..

 

But that look on his face.

 

He walked over to Sebastian slowly and sank down to his own knees, though his stomach ached something awful. Sebastian watched him, not saying a word. Just watching, his arms hanging by his sides. Jim swallowed, and then the order was there, firm and authoritative from his lips. Well, he might as well just fucking ruin it all.

"..Do it again."

 

Sebastian held Jim's gaze for a few more moments, and then kissed him again, a hand fisting in his hair this time, the kiss no longer gentle. The move dragged a sound from Jim's throat, and he was pushed hard onto his suite carpet, the silk threads of his pajamas tearing with an audible rip in Sebastian's hands.

 

Not wanting to be outdone, James pulled at the front of Sebastian's shirt, popping off the buttons and leaving it hanging open over his chest, just as Sebastian kissed him again, sucking hard on his bottom lip. He was instantly thrown back to being fifteen years old, everything gentle and nervous, Sebastian's hands on him..

" _Oh.._ -"

  
The sound was embarrassing, and Sebastian looked at him in surprise before his hands dropped down, and then his silk bottoms were torn too, laying in tatters on the carpet, as his friend pressed against him and began to rut, warm and heavy. He gasped into Jim's mouth when the knife sliced through the suit trousers, obviously having been unaware that Jim had it, stashed beneath the bed.

 

Maybe even realising that he could have used it on him in their fight. 

"..Motherfucker.." Sebastian muttered, before kissing him hard again, tossing away his cut clothes and then snatching the knife, holding it to Jim's throat for a split second of madness before he cut off his underwear, and then picked him up, throwing him onto the bed. 

"Imbecile." James shot back, his friend clambering atop him and grinning as he held out two fingers, Jim taking them into his mouth before he even had time to say 'suck.'

-

 

He was fucking James. He'd resolved to get away, to leave the business, to leave him behind once and for all, but now Jim was rocking in his lap, and Sebastian was lost. His hands rested on his friend's thighs, helping guide him, that tight heat making lights burst behind his eyes. James sinking down on top of him had been something fucking.. else entirely, the sight of him, groaning and swearing, engulfing Sebastian in his body..

Sebastian shuddered, and James swore, rocking himself harder, hands braced on Sebastian's chest. "..Fuck me." He ordered, and Sebastian complied, rutting up faster, harder, pulling Jim down more forcefully on top of him, and receiving a strangled gasp for his efforts. It was more than enough. 

He watched him, blue eyes focusing on brown, the same that he'd always known, the darkness momentarily replaced with hunger and something soft. The last bed they'd been in together had been a child's single, and now they were on silk sheets, an expensive mattress in an expensive building, and yet it was just the same. 

 

Better.

Sebastian pulled himself up, sitting against the headboard, Jim swearing at the change in angle before continuing his slow rocking, arms twining around Sebastian's shoulders. It was warm, intimate, a position that they certainly shouldn't have been in, and yet they were, and fuck it. Jim kissed him with trembling lips, and somehow that knife was in his hands again, cutting light patterns into his back. Sebastian felt the sting, the cold blade, but Jim's tongue in his mouth, the whimpers against his lips and the sweet envelope of his body.. well. They distracted, to say the least.

"..Sebastian.." He whispered, a desperate sound by his ear that had Sebastian reaching between them to stroke his friend, to bring him to the edge too. His rocking was becoming harder, frenzied, and sharp gasps escaped them both, eyes closed, forced open, holding bleary gazes as they were catapulted into bliss together. Sebastian spilled over into Jim's warm body, a growled curse on his lips as he tipped his head back, and Jim groaned, a breathily erotic sound, painting both of their skin with his release. 

"I love you." He might have whispered. 

"Idiot." He heard back, and then a mouth found his ear, able to feel James' pulse pounding through his chest. "..I love you."

Breathless, sweating, kisses lazy and warm, they rocked together slowly, James' hands sliding in the blood on Sebastian's back. Sebastian rested his forehead on James' shoulder, feeling dizzy and exultant, blissed and exhausted. It didn't make sense. Of course it didn't. It was sick and twisted, and he should have run far away the moment he had the chance. But he'd also seen James with Brigid. He was still in there, somewhere. Still there. His James. 

"..James.." He murmured, voice fractured by his heaving chest. Brown eyes, heavy and doelike, found his own. Sebastian continued, a slow smile on his lips. His chest stuttered. 

"..I'll.. yeah. I'll.. be your.. bodyguard.."

 

James smiled coquettishly, tilting his head in a way that made Sebastian think that the whole thing had been planned, if he didn't know any better. His friend kissed him, flat on the mouth, and his lips were shaking. He took a calming breath.

 

 "Yes. I know."

 

-

 


	11. 30.1

"..Where is he?" Sebastian asked gruffly, hands curling around the recruit's collar and shaking him hard. The kid winced, no older than about twenty and new to the company. Mathers and Stevenson had both been retired at 40, and Sebastian had been fucking glad to see them go - until he was left trying to manage two thousand men alone, and not a single one of them fucking competent.  
  
"I don't know, sir." The kid - Lake, he thought his surname was - was leaning away from him, trying to keep his voice steady as Sebastian glared at him, inquiring after his fucking absentee boyfriend. "He just-"  
  
"He just _what?_  He never misses meetings." Sebastian spat. He shook Lake, who tried in vain to pull himself free. "What, I'm supposed to believe he just went out for fucking coffee?"  
  
"..He was.. in one of his moods, sir." 

 

Sebastian stilled at that, and then swore, throwing Lake off to the side and then running for the door. One of James' moods was not good news. It had begun around four and a half years ago, and quite unexpectedly. Soon after they'd slept together, soon after they'd become an 'item' and Sebastian had moved into his best friend's bed. Things had changed fast. 

 

James had returned to him. He was loving, gentle, firm with his recruits but sweet with Sebastian, sarcastic and funny and flirtatious to boot. All else forgiven, they'd become closer, and Sebastian took his bodyguarding duties incredibly seriously. James had more than once gotten annoyed with his triple checks of a room, or his insistence on using bullet proof vehicles, and standing so close to him when they were out in the open air together. Sebastian didn't care. He'd only just gotten James back, and he didn't want to lose him again. 

But he didn't count on the consequences of pushing all that darkness back.

 

In pulling his friend from the abyss, he'd created a monster. 

 

There was no other way to put it.

 

-

 

Before the incident with Brigid's attack, James had been a stiff and cruel leader. He'd killed and he'd enjoyed it, but the two different sides of his personality would commonly conflict. He'd be meticulous at the business side of things, and his need for control and a smooth office had meant that the kills were few and far between. The murders would be performed almost boredly, a routine slit of a throat here, or a shot in the back of the head, there. Usually relegated to other snipers, or his hit men. James liked to lead, to run his empire, to work with analytics and documents, and the science of success. 

After Sebastian, the job became priority. Kills were meaningless, and he didn't do anything without meaning. He'd extort, he'd earn, he'd plan and strategise. For a few months, they basked in incredible successes, held each other in bed every night and found peace in each other's bodies. They talked about crazy things. They stored sperm samples in a bank, in case ten years into the future, they should want to start a family. Put their best specimens forward, so to speak. Joked about marriage, though Sebastian couldn't stomach the idea, not after seeing their own families' failures. Maybe. One day. But it was peaceful. They had a future, they had a past. They had love. It was more than Sebastian could have hoped for.

 

And then Jim came back.

 

-

 

It had been a Winter's morning, crisp and cold, and James had sat at the desk of the new office, the huge glass panels looking out on the rest of his busy worker bees. Sebastian had been sitting on one of his sofas, flicking through a file for their next job, dressed in a suit but with bare feet, his toes in the shag rug. The heating was on high, there was a fresh cup of peppermint tea on his desk, and by all means, James should have been pleased. They'd just turned over their second fifty billion in two years, which was a.. fair accomplishment. 

 

A clock, expensive, minimalist silver, ticked hollowly on the wall as Sebastian sat in comfortable silence. 

 

He always wished he'd smashed that fucking clock.

"..What.. is.. that.. fucking.. ticking?"  Jim had said, his voice a dark growl from behind gritted teeth. Sebastian had looked up surprisedly, and glanced at the wall ornament. 

"..Uh? The clock..?"  He laughed quietly, eyes finding his friend again. That drawing was tacked up on a new noticeboard, brought with them from the last place. "..It was here when we moved."

"Take.. it.. down.."  Came Jim's voice, low and seething, and Sebastian stood slowly, still a little amused, not understanding. Jim sat, his eyes dark, fixed on the wood of his desk, knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the wood.  

"..Right.."  

He'd walked over, realising he'd need a step ladder and then looked back, jabbing a thumb at the clock. "..It's too high. I'll have-"

 

With a roar of a shriek, and a loud crash, Jim swept everything from his desk, the hot tea flying all over the shag carpet, the mug smashing on the wall. The lamp cracked and flickered off, and papers fluttered to the ground, Jim stood behind the desk with a face like thunder. Sebastian's eyes were wide, uneasy.

"What the fuck is wrong?" He asked in breathless disbelief, holding up his hands. "You-"

"I asked you to take it down." Jim replied through gritted teeth, eyes boring through Sebastian's skull. Strange. Unfocused. Sebastian swallowed, frowned, beyond fucking confused. Jim's hand slid into his top draw.. and came out with a knife, long and sharp, glinting in the cold winter light from the window.

"Fuck, James.." Sebastian said, his voice dropping into a half whisper, hands still held up in front of him. His heart had begun to stutter, and this was wrong. All wrong. It didn't make any sense. It was just a damned..  His gaze swivelled to the clock. "..I can get it. If you'll just let me-"

Jim stepped out from behind the desk. His fingers curled tighter around the knife, and he smiled. It wasn't a smile that Sebastian knew. It was slow, manic, the kind of smile that sent shards of ice down into his gullet.

"..James.." He tried again, using that name. His name. Jim took a step, and he took two back, eyes on that blade again. "It's me. It's Sebastian."

"I asked you to take it down."  Jim repeated, a slow drawl of a growl, and then that was it. 

 

He lunged. 

 

Sebastian turned to run. 

Everything happened fast.

 

Jim slashed two lines across his chest, deep cuts that had Sebastian roaring in pain, crumpling into the carpet as the blade was swiped across his skin again and again, his chest once more, and then his back when he mustered the strength to roll over. He waited to die, waited for that knife to find his throat or his heart. If anyone was going to do it, it made sense for it to be his James, after all.. even if it was all wrong, warped somehow, his friend a man possessed.  But the last fall of the knife never came. Soaked in his own blood and dizzy with agony, Sebastian lay on the carpet as Jim stepped over him, singing the faintest strains of a nursery rhyme, the sounds hollow and childlike as he headed into the office.

 

Haunting.

 

His body heavy, Sebastian had watched through black spots, holding a bloody hand out with a rasping, silent protest as Jim casually and meticulously slaughtered every single one of their recruits. Over forty had been in the office that day, all loyal, some of them older than them. Some just kids themselves, in their early twenties. He'd taken a knife to the first unsuspecting few, and picked up their weapons for the next lot, smiling all the while while he shot them to pieces. Not just dead. Annihilated. Mutilated.

 

When Sebastian had come round, he'd been in a private hospital, with James at his bedside. He'd jumped when he'd seen him, ashamedly afraid, the drip almost toppling over at his side from the jolt. His heart slammed in his chest.

 

But his friend was back, and his eyes were red around the edges. Sweet and brown and haunted. He sat with his knees up to his chest, and reached for Sebastian's hand when he woke up. His clothes were still bloodied, and he assumed that the doctors had been paid, blackmailed or bribed, to ignore the sight. To treat Sebastian's sliced body with no questions asked. 

 

Hesitantly, Sebastian had taken that hand. Squeezed James' fingers, silently accepting his apology.

 

He still had no idea what had happened. What had prompted the onslaught.

"..I'm so sorry." James had choked, before the tears came. Sebastian just nodded. A few hours later, he'd been discharged. They'd gone back to the building together, and cleaned up the bodies. The blood. Without a word, hidden it all away, and then incinerated the evidence.

 

And that was only the first time.

 

-

 

Now, Sebastian swore with the beats of his heart, breaking into a jog when he reached the stairs to the car park. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. It was a big meeting that James was about to miss, a deal for 2 billion that was a joint assassination of three company CEOs, a headquarters demolition, and an arms deal from North Africa to London. James had been preparing for it all week, staying up into the early mornings to plot out the details on maps and graphs, to discuss the specifics with men on the phone, all while Sebastian had slept.

 

He felt a stab of guilt. He hadn't been watching him. Hadn't been making sure that he was eating, that he was sleeping, that he was training as they'd agreed.

 

Of course, Jim would come back.

He reached the car, threw himself into the driver's seat and then sped towards West London, towards the swanky office block where the meeting was planned. They'd agreed to meet beforehand at headquarters, but as Sebastian got closer, his fear was confirmed. James' Porsche sat outside, parked lopsidedly on the pavement.

 

"..Shit." Sebastian swore in breathless panic, pulling up alongside the car and leaping out. He felt his scars throb, the three lines across his chest that had healed in angry red scratches, that James referred to fondly as his tiger stripes. That first night at home, he'd curled up against Sebastian in bed, and Sebastian had simply held him there, neither of them wanting to talk about it. 

"..Remember when we read a Cat Called Kelly?" James had said at last in a quiet voice, and Sebastian had nodded, wordless.

"..I think I want to run away from home too."

"..What about your mama?" Sebastian had asked with the ghost of amusement, mimicking five year old James' question when a stubborn little Sebastian had said the same thing. 

James' didn't say anything. His body shook, facing away from Sebastian as silent sobs wracked him, and Sebastian closed his eyes. He held him. Just held him.

 

Now, Sebastian burst into the building. He didn't give a damn about the deal that'd be ruined, didn't care about the lives that James might end. But walking into another criminal headquarters, in that kind of mood, undoubtedly armed.. He was terrified that he'd find his best friend's body, sprawled and dotted with bullet holes, bleeding out on the floor.

 

The foyer was expensive, marble everywhere. Completely empty, eerily so, the reception desk unmanned - and a smear of blood on the wall behind. Sebastian ran over, and swallowed when he saw the woman, pale and dead, shot through the chest. He slammed his hand into the lift button, rushing inside and hitting for the penthouse offices, trapped into an unsettling kind of silence when the doors closed and the quaint music began to play.

 

Images floated in front of his eyes. Memories and premonitions, truth and fear. James, unveiling the new Ferrari that he'd bought for him, knowing that Sebastian would drool. Jim, shot to pieces, crazed and dead, his enemies laughing. James, scruffy five year old with his hair smoothed back, concentrating hard on the dinosaur book in his lap. Jim, laughing, singing his maniacal nursery rhymes as he cut through man after man, enjoying himself as he danced and swayed through a crowd of his enemies. 

 

James. Jim. Jim. James.

 

They didn't fit together in his head anymore.

 

The lift doors pinged, opening with a pleasant voice informing him that he was on the twelfth floor. Sebastian stepped out cautiously, his gun held aloft. His shoe crunched on broken glass from office windows straight ahead, and he glanced up at them, seeing only black and white and red. His heart in his mouth, he headed inside, a glass door shattered on it's hinges. Black computers, white carpet, white desks and a blackboard in the corner. Huge windows, with a view around London.

 

And the whole lot of it, splattered with arcs of crimson, of drying, dripping blood. 

"..James?"  Sebastian said, glass still crunching beneath his feet. He passed a body, and the man had no eyes, had a bloodied word carved into the white shirt, through to the skin of his back. He pushed back the bile that rose in his throat. The next had a face that was blown to pieces, sat up in his office chair with a cup of tea in hand and his legs crossed. Not fallen. Positioned there. 

 

This wasn't normal. This was taking it further. Jim liked to play, but this would take time. Someone had made him crack. Some thing, maybe.

"..James.." He repeated, holding a hand over his mouth and nose, the stench of blood and death overwhelming. 

 

A sudden movement and Sebastian spun with his gun - only to point it at his best friend, who was standing and cleaning a knife on the hem of his jacket, humming pleasantly under his breath. He looked up, and smiled at the sight of Sebastian, turning the knife between his fingers.

"Oh," He said, and gave a wave, fluttering crimson fingers. "..Hello, my love."

As if he'd caught him just doing some cooking, cleaning around the house. Not carving words into a man's back. Sebastian edged closer, and found that he'd been positioning the bodies, two men with arms around each other's shoulders, smiling with wide, bloody smiles cut into their faces, mouths hacked lengthways.

"Hello." Sebastian answered, hollowly. He still held the gun aloft.

"It's for you." Jim said, a lowly amused drawl, gesturing with the knife at the two dead men. "..It's like me and you. Like a picture."

The words were almost childlike. Innocent, somehow.

"..Like the soldier one." Sebastian answered with a kind of low monotony, still in shock. Dread dripped into his stomach. It was getting worse. Jim was getting worse. 

"Exactly! Like the soldier one." Jim answered, smiling in agreement and Sebastian couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine. This wasn't his best friend, his lover. This wasn't his James.

 

"..You.. you think we can go home now?" Sebastian asked, slowly lowering the gun with slightly sweaty fingers. His mouth felt dry. He was trying not to look at the bodies, at the blood coating James' suit from head to toe. He was.. fucking weird, like this. Like a little boy, caught in the biscuit jar. Sebastian had known him as a child. His curiosity, his glee at science and occasional.. mischief.

"Home is boring."

The words were sing-song, and that blade ghosted over Jim's own wrists, Sebastian taking a few panicked steps forward. 

"James-" He said, holding out a hand, his eyes wide, trying to calm his tone. He cleared his throat. "..Put it down. Just put the knife down. I'll take you home. We can go to bed. That's what you want, isn't it? To go to bed with me? Yeah?"

"Will you read to me?"

The words were a slow, sing-song drawl, and Sebastian winced. Fuck, this was weird. He was five all over again. Brutal child killer amongst his broken dolls.

"..Yeah. Yeah, I'll read to you. C'mon."

Jim pouted next, that knife staying exactly where it was, his hand a fist as it traced the veins along his forearm.

"..It's all so.. boring.. Sebastian.." The words were choked. Despairing. It came suddenly. "It's.. it's all so fucking..  _boring_.."

"You love your work, James." Sebastian bargained, a hand out and edging closer. His heart was thudding again. "..The money.. the deals-"

_"I don't care about the deals!"_   The words were an anguished scream, James' face contorted in rage and clutching that knife harder - before seconds later, his words were back to that quiet calm. That placid smile. "..I don't care, about the deals. The deals are boring. The money..  _boooring_."

  
"Then I'll find something." Sebastian promised desperately, reaching him at last. "..I'll find something. I'll help you, love. I mean it. I'll.. fuck.. I'll make it work."

Jim seemed to think for a moment, but he let Sebastian take the knife away from him slowly, and then wrap an arm around his shoulders. He leaned into him, and after a moment, he was shaking, and Sebastian felt relieved. This part always happened. The come down. The shaking and the crying, followed by Sebastian's slow clean up. This deal, these dead men.. it wouldn't affect them, not really. Jim was a man with fingers in a lot of criminal pies, and it would take more than one decimated deal to hurt them. 

 

This would be cleaned up, no doubt by the building management, quickly and quietly.

 

"..It's so boring.."

"..I know, Jim. I know."

"James."

"..What?"

"You called me Jim."

Sebastian lead his best friend outside, an arm around his shoulders and something uneasy in his chest. He'd never spoken of being bored before, not like that, not of everything. He didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. 


	12. 30.2

His name was Sherlock Holmes, and Sebastian had heard of him before. 

 

 

He'd been a growing annoyance these past few months, some kind of press monkey, solving the unsolvable crimes. He'd gotten close to a few of Jim's deals, but not close enough to worry them - though Sebastian had to admit, he was grateful. Beyond grateful. Hell, he wanted to send the fucker a bouquet of flowers.

James hadn't had a 'Jim' attack for a few months now, and Sebastian put it down to this Holmes. His involvement had James interested, had him researching the guy, even taking Sebastian with him to break into his flat and scout it out. Curious, he'd sent Sebastian to liaise with some taxi driver, a man who seemed both angry and proud that his suicide murders had been cracked - and almost immediately agreed to take Holmes for a ride. 

 

When they learnt of his dubious death at Holmes' hands - the police claiming that they didn't know who had done it - Sebastian snorted. Vigilante justice. Old school. He was relieved, though. He'd been half tempted to intervene himself, to make sure Holmes wasn't killed. To see James like that again.. decorating the walls with blood, playing with dead bodies like that, his voice childlike and haunting.. Jesus. It was.. fucking.. wrong. 

 

"Isn't it exciting?" James had asked one night, the two of them sat amongst pictures of Chinese assassins, a few of them actually recruits under James' employ. He was rigging something else up for Holmes to unravel, using one of his staler smuggling rings and staging a few high profile banker murders to get him interested. "He's just like _me_ , Sebastian."

Sebastian hadn't known what he meant by that. For Holmes' sake, he hoped he wasn't like 'Jim'. The world could only take one killer of his magnitude. 

 

Holmes uncovered the smuggling ring. James executed the leader before she could give his name. Next came the explosives.

 

Sebastian supposed, he was rather enjoying himself too.

 

-

 

"He did it! He saved the child!" James squealed, running around his damned office, Sebastian sitting beside him and laughing quietly. He was so damned excited. Sherlock had been given ten seconds to figure out why the Vermeer was a fake, and he'd managed it with only a half second to spare. The child went free. Sebastian feigned relief. He'd given Lake orders not to harm the kid, even if Holmes didn't get it right. 

 

It wasn't like it mattered. He'd been the one rigging that tower block to explode, the one that had killed tens of people, and probably kids too. His insides burned at the thought, and he pushed it out of his mind. He wasn't a good man. He'd lost the right to use that word a long time ago. If Jim knew he'd saved the kid, he'd likely have him beaten anyway, no matter whether he warmed his bed or not. But luckily, it hadn't come to that. 

Having Holmes' brother take James was harder. It was all planned, of course. He'd been through it with Sebastian, exactly what the man would and wouldn't do, but Sebastian had bristled, hating the idea of James under interrogation. Even now, he saw that brown eyed five year old, pouting at the school door to get at the books inside. It took a lot of convincing to stay at home.

 

He'd even met Sherlock Holmes. Sebastian was even less comfortable with that aspect of things. James had sat him down to tell him about it. 

"..I need to date a girl."

Sebastian had blinked at him a few times, beyond confused. "..I'm.. sorry. What?"

"Molly Hooper. She's close to Holmes. She might be the key to cracking him. I'm going to date her, and flout it in front of him."

"And how exactly-"

"Flirting."

Sebastian had burst out laughing at that. Even in school, it had always been himself who had been talented with the girls. The idea of Jim flirting with someone.. with Molly Hooper.. had him in stitches. With a cold, determined glare, James had left the building. He returned a day later, with scratches on his arms from Hooper's cat, and scratches on his back from Hooper herself. And Sebastian had seen red. 

 

"You fucked her?" He roared, his fists clenched by his sides. He wouldn't hit him. Wouldn't. 

 

James shrugged. "I told you I could."

"How the fuck-"

"It was necessary. Do calm down. It was hardly enjoyable."

"Hardly - I could fucking kill you!"

Arms had slid around his shoulders. A soft mouth had found his own, groaning his name into his mouth. A hand slid down to palm at his crotch, and whatever rage Sebastian felt burned down to embers, simmering unhappily in his stomach. He took James to bed, and fucked him hard up against the headboard, just to prove a point. 

 

Molly Hooper ended the relationship the next day, only hours after James had walked into the lab with Sherlock Holmes, pretending to be Hooper's boyfriend. 

"Gay." James muttered, arms folded and a pout on his lips. "He said 'gay'. I had the room bugged. Something about my eyes and my fucking underwear. The underwear I planned, but my eyes? My fucking eyelashes?! What's wrong with them?"

"..They're very pretty.." Sebastian had teased, and James had pushed him back, come to sit on top of him. 

"..You've always been a pain in the arse."

"You've always been small."  Sebastian quipped back, and pushed James off, pinning him to the bed rather easily with a grin.

 

-

 

It was only a few days before the pair were destined to meet again, apparently, because Sebastian was out on a job - another ambassador - when he was called to a damned swimming pool. James kissed him on the cheek and asked him to wait in the upper level with his gun. He'd stood stonily still, arching an eyebrow. 

"There's no way in hell I'm leaving you down here with that fucker. Suppose he brings a gun?"

"Of course he'll have a gun."

"Then-"

"Just do as I say, you imbecile."

"Mummy's boy."

"Idiot."

They'd kissed again, and Sebastian had filed reluctantly upstairs, positioning himself with absolute focus and concentration on the doors. He watched as John Watson was delivered, rigged to explode. James laughed, thanked the boys, and then disappeared through the back door. He watched the exchange between Sherlock and his friend, fingers tightening on his trigger when Holmes pointed that fucking gun at his best friend, James sauntering in all excited. His heart beat steadily, his pupils dilated, ready to fire at any slight twitch, any slight indication that Holmes might try and shoot. Or do something stupid.

 

He accepted his own death quietly when Holmes pointed the gun at the bomb jacket. Hell, he'd been ready to blow Watson up when he'd leapt on James, but had paused for fear of killing them both via detonation. Fuck, he hated being up here. It was too far, dangerously far, he didn't trust James not to give everything up just to make a point. Bored, he'd said. 

 

Suppose Holmes stopped being interesting?

 

Relieved, he left at James' click, following him out of the building as he ended that phone call. He clapped his hands excitedly, sliding the device away.

"Another puzzle for him to solve! This time, a code. And I know just the girl to do it."

-

  
"Not guilty."

The verdict was unanimous, and Sebastian grinned, absolutely fucking knackered from spending the night rigging twelve hotel room televisions with a little help from James' tech guy. The press were on their feet, outraged at the result. James walked from the courthouse, Sebastian at his side, and he received only a peck on the cheek in thanks, in the car on the way to Baker Street. Or at least, that was where his lover was going, bright eyed and excited. 

 

Sebastian was sent back home. 

 

He frowned, sitting in one of the expensive armchairs. It was quiet. Too quiet. He was alone with his thoughts, and he didn't like what they were saying to him - not one bit. 

 

They hadn't seen 'Jim' for months now. Four, maybe five. But James had also abandoned much of the business. Things were being controlled haphazardly by the recruits or simply left to their own devices, and no new meetings had been held in as long as Holmes had been on the scene. Every word James spoke seemed to have the word 'Sherlock' or 'Holmes' beside it, and his eyes were bright in a way that they'd once been for him. Crawling into his bed, a nervous fifteen year old, or the little boy spotting him on the bus. The child, excited at his science textbook.

 

Sherlock Holmes was his new text book, and James wouldn't be satisfied until he'd read him completely - pulled him apart, to see how he worked.

 

And Sebastian was left by the sidelines, torn between relief and anguish. 

 

To see James go through one of his 'Jim' onslaughts was harrowing, awful for both of them. To see him, manic like that, killing without hope or agenda, enjoying himself, childlike in his anger and glee, the bodies his canvas.. it left them both broken afterwards. His friend, his James, was left shaken and confused, guilty and vulnerable. Sebastian just felt sick. He'd give anything not to have him go through that anymore.

 

"..I need you to kidnap some children."  James drawled when he came in, walking past Sebastian when he held out his arms for an embrace. He walked straight to his laptop, and turned it on. A few moments later, The Science of Deduction was on the screen, and hurt simmered in Sebastian's chest again. 

"..Isn't it amazing?" James said, not even looking back at him, though his voice was excited. "..This is going to be so much _fun_."

 

He was still speaking when Sebastian left the room, going to bed. James didn't notice.

 

-

 

The kidnapping went off flawlessly. Sebastian dressed in a black coat and a wig. It was fine. All fine. But he was no longer enjoying himself, not like at the beginning. James was obsessed. They hardly talked anymore, not about the future, not about the past - not about anything. Just Sherlock Holmes, and the great plan. Sebastian didn't even know what the great plan was. 

 

They hadn't fucked in weeks. Mostly because James wasn't sleeping, or slept at his desk, a few hours in between his work. His obsession. His time was spent monitoring the cameras in Baker Street, or contacting the press, or just recently - Sebastian had caught him leaving - meeting up with Holmes again.

 

He was dressed in a flimsy t shirt, his hair mussed like he'd worn it as a teenager. Sebastian smiled, trying to pull him close, but had been pushed back.

"Get off me! You'll ruin it. Idiot."

More angry hurt burned in his chest.

"..Where are you going?"

"Sherlock's going to go and find Kitty Ri-"

"Right."  Sebastian cut him off roughly, turning to walk upstairs, to leave him to it. Fucking Sherlock this, and Sherlock that. James just laughed, the sound following after him. 

"My, my, Sebastian.." He called, Sebastian closing his eyes and gritting his teeth as he stood in the hallway. "..Not jealous, are we?"

Of course. Of course he was jealous. His best friend, his lover, his fucking.. everything. He was losing James to a man who despised him. The door slammed before he could say anything back, and he sat at the top of the stairs, just brooding, for a few hours. He closed his eyes, a kind of despair settling in his stomach, and leaned his head against the banister.

 

-

 

The door closed quietly at around midnight, and James headed upstairs, pausing when he saw Sebastian still sat on the steps. Watching him. He stopped walking, fumbling with a cardigan in his hands. A cardigan, for fuck sake, Sebastian thought. Sebastian spoke quietly, his words hurting.

"..Something.. isn't right, James."

James was quiet for a moment, and then walked up the remaining steps, sitting down soundlessly beside him. Sebastian was a little surprised. He'd expected to be called an idiot, to be walked past, even ignored. But James lifted his arm, slid underneath, and then kissed him on the cheek. 

"I know." He admitted softly. "..Enough. It ends tomorrow."

Sebastian met his gaze, the deep brown, found himself with James again, with his James - he hadn't lost him after all. 

"The Sherlock stuff?" He asked, and his best friend nodded. 

"..The Sherlock stuff. All finished, I promise."

"Grand finale, then?"

"..Got it in one."

Sebastian smiled, a little timidly at first, but then a smile cracked over James' lips, and they were laughing quietly together and Sebastian suddenly wasn't sure why he'd doubted him. His best friend's hands found his shoulders, pushed him back onto the landing carpet, and then he was climbing onto him, kissing him hard, hands dragging off Sebastian's shirt. Sebastian pushed his tongue into James' mouth, and it took only a few hurried minutes before they were naked, clothes discarded over the carpet and stairs, James rocking atop him, Sebastian's groans those of both pleasure and relief. It was hard, fast, loving and rough, everything they needed - hands fisted into hair, mouths clashed together and their bodies moved with synchronicity, until both were coated with a thin sheen of sweat, dizzy with bliss and coated with one another's release.

Afterwards, Sebastian held James to him. They were breathless, trembling, and when Sebastian looked down at James, he found that he was crying, tears streaking silently down his cheeks. 

"..Hey.." He murmured, quiet and soft. "..Hey, what's all this?"

"..I'm sorry." James whispered. He pressed his lips to each of Sebastian's cheeks, Sebastian wiping those tears away with his thumbs. "..I really am."

"Don't be daft." Sebastian said gently, and kissed his hair. "..We're fine, aren't we? You still love me?"

"I still love you."  James confirmed, though his eyes were wet again almost immediately after the words left his lips.

"..Well then." Sebastian said, and closed his eyes with a half smile. His best friend was back. His love. His everything. His James.

"..I'll always love you. Remember that."

-

 

Sebastian wouldn't realise the significance of that last, sweet whisper until the following day. Until he'd been walking around London for forty five minutes, exasperated after looking for a building that didn't exist, a mark that didn't seem to work where he'd been told he worked, and a job that was becoming more difficult and pointless by the second. 

The call was from James. He answered on the first ring, but the line had already gone dead. Rolling his eyes, he called back. 

 

He was a little anxious. Today was 'finale' day. He might need help, though he'd been told that this job, this fucking nonexistent job, was paramount.

 

James answered, but when Sebastian spoke, he didn't answer. It was like he was talking to himself - until he heard Sherlock, and scowled. But he let himself think about last night. James in his arms. It all ends tomorrow. Today. Now. Sherlock's last hurrah. He supposed he appreciated the thought. James would have known that he'd like to listen to that clever bastard die.

 

He sat down on a bench, grinning as he clicked the phone onto speaker. He listened to their back and forth for a few minutes, amused at James' low drawl. He thought about what they could do this evening - maybe go out for once, out into London, have a meal together. Maybe go and see Brigid - they hadn't visited for a few months, since all this had begun, and she was only just coming round to the idea of what James did. After all, she'd seen him on television. She'd also seen him pronounced not guilty at the trial, and her faith in her baby boy had been restored.

_You were the best distraction, and now I don't even have you. Because I've beaten you._

 

Sebastian's smile fell a little. That bitterness in his voice, he didn't like it. It reminded him of that Jim attack - the one with the carved, positioned bodies. 

_I'm disappointed in you, ordinary Sherlock._

The smile returned, half heartedly, as he realised that he was making Holmes jump to his death, pleased with what was going on - though he clenched his fists when James' voice became a touch laboured. Holmes was fucking threatening him, no doubt.. If he hurt him, he'd wish he'd leapt when he had the fucking chance. Nobody would lay a damned finger on James and get away with it. Not when Sebastian was around.

 

Relief slid through him when Sherlock cracked, asking for privacy, silence falling. He stood, frowning when Sherlock began to laugh. He paced slowly, listening to James' bemusement.

 

_What?_

_What is it?_

  
_What did I miss?_

_You think you can make me stop the order? You think you can make me do that?_

_Sherlock, your big brother and all the King’s horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to._

_Nah. You talk big. Nah.. you're on the side of the angels._

Sherlock said something. A silence fell, and Sebastian gnawed on his thumbnail. 

_No.. you're not. I see. You're not ordinary. No. You're me._

_You're me. Thank you!_

_Sherlock Holmes._

_Thank you. Bless you._

 

James' voice was tearful, childlike again, and Sebastian was on his feet, running, though he didn't know where he was going.. all he knew was that this was bad, very fucking bad, and that those words didn't belong to James, not his James, but Jim..-

_As long as I'm alive,  you can save your friends, you've got a way out._

 

Sebastian was running through the street, knocking people flying, phone still held halfway to his ear, his heart racing.

 

_Well good luck with that._

 

A single gunshot. A strangled gasp. The clatter of the phone. 

 

Sebastian falling, falling, hitting concrete, passers by reaching for him. Roaring, the sound an agonised wail, a wordless lament. Pained. 

No. Not like this. Never like this. 

 

James.

 

His James.

 

_Are we going to get married?_

_Do you want to?_

_Okay._

_Okay._

 

_Please don't leave me._

_Never._

  
_What are you doing?_

_I don't know. My mama does it._

  
_My name is Sebastian, and I like James._ _  
_

_I'll always love you. Remember that._

_-_


	13. 35.1

Sebastian Moran sat at his kitchen table, a heated plate of leftovers in front of him, the china still hot from the microwave. He ate ravenously, absolutely exhausted from his day, and glanced at the clock, realising that it was gone ten o clock. A little late for his evening meal, but he'd been too busy, hadn't been able to make the time. Never mind. He didn't care. He'd survived on coffee and sandwiches at lunchtime. The clock ticked on the kitchen wall, and it sparked a dark memory, one that Sebastian had long since forced out of his mind.

 

He concentrated on his food instead, pushed away that hard ache in his chest, the ache that was making him want to set down the knife and fork, to claw at his own skin, to make the pain stop somehow. It had been this way for a long four and quarter years. 

 

He'd once heard someone say that time was a healer. It was bullshit. Time healed nothing, it just provided a set of new worries to keep the damned pain at bay. 

 

Time was no healer. 

 

Sebastian had survived. Clung to life by the skin of his teeth, ran so far ahead of the depression that he couldn't see reality anymore. 

 

That day.. that day had been the worst in his life. He stared numbly at the table top, fork frozen halfway to his mouth, just remembering. That gunshot ricocheting, echoing through his skull. The cold of the pavement, the anxious mutters of the people passing by. Knowing. Just knowing. 

"Daddy?"

Sebastian jumped, glancing to the doorway. AJ stood, rubbing hard at his eyes and squinting in the light of the kitchen, the three year old dressed in rumpled blue pajamas and holding a worn, stuffed bear. He sighed, and held out his arms, bending down to catch him as he ran over, tiny bare feet slapping on kitchen tile. He lifted him into his arms, and kissed his hair. 

"..You're supposed to be in bed."

-

 

He knew that he shouldn't have done it. Knew it with every fiber of his being, but at the same time, he needed something. Someone. He needed help.

 

The days after James' death had been the worst of his life, and now he barely remembered them. That first few weeks was a dark fog of grief and black thoughts, every other day reaching for the pill bottle, or draining a fresh bottle of whiskey. He hadn't even been allowed to see his damned body. The police had seized him, refused to disclose where they'd taken him or if they even had him at all, and after weeks of trying, they began to deny that they'd ever taken him. 

 

He might not have believed it had even happened, might have put it down to a cruel hallucination, had it not been for the photographs. They were all he had. Lake had a contact in NSY, and the guy had managed to sneak out a few photographs of the body, pre-autopsy. Sebastian had looked at them once, and never again. He'd emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet, sobbing like a child. James' skin was pale, grey. Dry. He looked cold. His eyes were closed, and there were two more photographs, one from the side and one from the back. The back of his head was bloodied. Another photograph showed the smart suit he'd worn on the day, and the coat, both coated with dried, brown blood.

Sebastian had put the photographs in a box of James' things. With a Cat Called Kelly, and that old science textbook, and his soldier drawing. With his tie from school, and the keys for the Ferrari that Sebastian had vowed never to use again. He'd kept all the suits, too. Hung them in his cupboard amongst his own clothes, just holding them sometimes, a jacket or a shirt, still able to smell detergent on them. James' smell.  Within a year, they smelled like dust.

 

It had been almost six months since James had died, when Sebastian received an unexpected letter through the post. Their samples at the clinic were going to be destroyed, and he'd have to write back if he wanted them kept, pay another installment towards the freezing costs. Sebastian, in his whiskey-addled haze, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and  clothes that hadn't been washed in weeks, had had a sudden and brilliant idea. And several million pounds to spare.

 

The business had been left in his name, another cruel joke by his late love. Sebastian had promptly appointed the top five recruits as managers, ordered them to establish some kind of hierarchy, and left them to it. Money was deposited in his bank account, huge, ridiculous sums. He didn't work. He didn't shoot. He drank, and he wallowed in his misery, and quite soon he was going to die. He'd accepted it. 

 

Right up until he saw that letter.

 

He made some calls. Ordered his own sample destroyed, but kept the one now registered in his own name, as a part of James' property. Found an egg donor that fit his own characteristics, and a surrogate who was willing to carry - at the price of five hundred thousand per attempt. It was easy work. Yes work.

An egg donor matching your original requirements has been found sir. Do you wish to proceed?

 

Yes.

The surrogate asks personal costs of 500k, sir. Proceed?

 

Yes.

The first attempt failed, sir. We have enough left for 1 further. Proceed?

 

Yes.

He didn't really think about it. They were just a series of emails, not real, not really, and he waited for the second that would tell him that it had been a failure. That the last of James' sample had been used. But the email never came. Instead, he received a doctor's fax. A detailed description of something or other that had him blinking confusedly at the computer screen, sloshing whiskey over the keyboard. 

A positive pregnancy test.

 

The weeks ran together. The picture messages came to his phone. A rounding belly, nothing noticeable. A scan picture. Another photograph, this time of tightly stretched skin, red lines covering a huge bump, a dress rucked up to show the distended belly. Sebastian clicked through them emotionlessly when they came. It didn't feel real. Just another yes sir, no sir, should I shoot him dead, sir?

The night before the baby was born, he raised his whiskey glass and toasted James Moriarty, best friend and only love. The five year old who had enthralled him, the ten year old needing his help, the fifteen year old who had taken his virginity. The twenty year old who had enslaved him, but kept his adoration. The twenty five year old who had kissed him tenderly and stolen his heart all over again. The thirty year old who had broken him, and shattered him into tiny pieces.

 

Alexander James Moriarty was born at eight AM, promptly pushed into the world with a loud scream of a cry, pink and wrinkled and profoundly upset.

 

Sebastian had received the call at 6.10am, raced numbly to the hospital, his heart lurching as he'd paced the delivery room, the surrogate mother somehow calmer than he was. It was the first time he'd been totally sober in weeks. Months.

 

What had he done? Had he really made this happen, really manufactured this little life into being? Really.. used part of James to make this baby?

 

He felt a lurch of guilt then, of perverse shame. He watched the baby be pushed into the world, cut the cord with shaking fingers, stood silently as midwives washed and weighed him, and counted his fingers and toes. He screamed and screamed, wriggling and red. An hour passed. The lady, kind and calm, having done this a few times before, patted him on the shoulder.  The surrogate mother. Another hour passed, and then she was hugging him, tiredly pressing the baby into his arms, telling him that it was better for her not to get attached, though she wanted the occasional photograph. The nurses had wheeled her away to the recovery rooms, and he'd blinked, looking down at the slight heaviness in his arms, the swaddled infant, still red in the face and burbling quietly. He was blonde, like the egg donor had been. Like Sebastian was. 

He slept. Sebastian cradled him, let the hospital take pity on his situation and provide him with an old car seat, some nappies, a few baby gros. They thought him a single father, the estranged husband of the surrogate mother, as per the agreement they'd signed months ago now. The hospital supplied two tins of formula, and told him gently where to buy more, and which brands and age groups to get. How to change him properly, with talcum powder and wipes, and how to feed him. Overwhelmed and exhausted, Sebastian had gone to the car. He'd secured the seat in the back, and then the baby had blinked himself awake with a quietly unhappy sound, and Sebastian knew how he felt. 

 

Those eyes opened.

 

Big, sweet, brown. The exact shade. 

 

His heart had cracked open, his body suddenly too heavy in the car park, and he met that tiny gaze, that face almost angry as it looked back at him. 

 

He knew where he needed to go.

 

-

 

Sebastian hadn't seen Brigid since James had died. It wasn't something that he'd been able to face, not even after months. Ashamedly, he hadn't even given her the news in person. The call had been made with a shaking voice, already half out of his mind from the whiskey, his heart breaking as he had to say the words all over again, confirming just how true they were.

 

Brigid had sobbed on the phone. 'My baby.. not my baby..', she'd said, and Sebastian had cracked, sobbing too, unable to stay on the line. He'd apologised two, three, four times. 

 

I'm sorry Brigid. I'm sorry. I couldn't.. I didn't keep him safe.

 

He'd ended the call. He'd fallen into his pit of despair.

He drove straight to her house, to James' old house, the day the baby - at that point, still nameless - was born. His hands shook as he drove from both exhaustion and alcohol withdrawal, and the infant was silent in the backseat, sleeping quietly until they reached the house. Brigid opened the door, and her mouth dropped open a little, her hair now completely grey and shoulders stooped a little. But still James' mama.

Her eyes fell to the sleeping baby, born only a few hours earlier, and Sebastian's voice cracked, hoarse and lost.

"..I think I've done something stupid."

-

 

She understood why he'd done it. Of course she did. He hadn't known what would be involved, only that he wanted a piece of James back, however small it might be. And now he had a tiny baby, with no idea how to care for him.

 

Brigid had lifted the baby into her arms, and he'd opened his eyes, beginning to cry for the first time since he'd been born. It was a terrible sound, Sebastian had thought. Scratchy and scary, loud. It made him anxious.

"..What is it? Is something wrong? Is he hurt?"

Brigid laughed quietly, running a thumb over the infant's cheek.

"He's just letting us know he's here, aren't you baby?"

 

They were sitting in her living room, and Sebastian recognised it still from when he was a child. The pair had moved back here after James' father had died, after spending a year with Aunt Linda. He could still see his friend, five years old and clambering onto a dining chair, or sitting cross-legged, the dinosaur book in his lap. Instead he sat with Brigid, who held the baby, the infant opening his eyes again and blinking up at her blearily, a tiny fist opening and closing by his face.

 

Brigid gasped.

"I know." Sebastian said.

 

"..He has his eyes."

Silence fell, the both of them staring mesmerised at the tiny baby. Sacks of old baby clothes sat at Sebastian's feet. Brigid was going to help him, she'd said. She'd even asked if he'd like to come and stay for a while, but he'd shaken his head. Everything was happening so fast. He at least needed.. to try and settle the baby in a home. A house. His place. 

 

"..What are you going to call him?"

"..I have no idea."

"..When James was small, three or four maybe, he had a teddy bear called Alexander."  She rocked the baby carefully, and Sebastian watched, taking notes internally. "..He adored that bear."

"..Alexander." Sebastian repeated, and shuffled closer, looking down into those brown eyes, drooping shut as he fell asleep. "..I like it. But.. James. It needs.. a James."

"..Alexander James Moran."

"No. Moriarty."

"...Alexander James Moriarty."

He held out a finger, and a tiny hand curled around it. "..Perfect."

-

 

Brigid was a godsend.

 

It would turn out that he would send a car for her, every other day. She'd help with feeds, help to change him, help get him off to sleep, soothe Sebastian's worries about colic and SIDS, and make sure that no alcohol found its way into the house. Alexander James quickly became 'AJ', and on a night when Brigid had him over at her place, Sebastian painted his old study. White with blue and green stripes, and dinosaurs stenciled onto the paint. Soldiers, too. And sunshine, and stars, and flowers at Brigid's insistence. 

 

He pinned the soldier drawing right next to the cot, propped a Cat Called Kelly on the dresser beside the changing table. Brigid dug out James' old Alexander bear and washed him, sitting him atop the dresser with the book and the nappies. They bought tinkling mobiles, baby monitors, all manner of baby toys, and then as the year went on, walking aids and bouncing bumbos. 

 

AJ began to crawl at the same time that he began to giggle, and Sebastian had never heard a sweeter sound. They'd had a game in which they'd crawl together across the living room carpet, and then he'd stop very suddenly. AJ's shrieking giggles lit up his heart, made him feel light in a way he hadn't in years. The scruffy blonde hair began to grow like his own, and before he could even count the years slipping by, Alexander James was walking and talking - big, stumbly baby steps that had himself and Brigid following after him step by step, scared that he'd flop straight over and hurt himself. Before bed every night, they'd waggle their fingers at a photograph of James. It was framed, one that had been taken by Sebastian a long time ago, James twenty seven or so, grinning and wearing his shirt collar open. 

 

"Say, goodnight Papa."

"B'aaaaaa.."

The gesture had been there from the start, even if the words weren't quite ready, yet.  Sebastian had chuckled, kissed the downy blonde hair and put him to bed. 

 

AJ's first word was Da. His second 'Pa', and his third 'Ma', for all intents and purposes, Brigid being his mama. He knew James would like that. 

 

The walking was a problem. Sebastian couldn't build stair-gates fast enough, and AJ was incredibly clever, knowing that he could put up his fingers and reach door handles, opening cupboards and taking out the plates, or pulling mugs and glasses straight off the tabletops. They'd had a few accidents, the worst involved a smashed glass, and the toddler dashing through the pieces. Sebastian had been racked with guilt for days.

"Don't blame yourself." Brigid had said, Alex sleeping in her arms, his thumb in his mouth and his tiny little feet bandaged. "It happens. Kids make mess, and accidents happen. James was exactly the same."

"..Exactly the same?"

_"Very_  clever."

-

 

AJ was three, now, as of two weeks ago. One of his presents had been a 'big boy' bed, and they were having a little trouble with it. Brigid usually was able to settle him better, but she couldn't visit for a few days, struck down by a bad cold. Alex cuddled into Sebastian's chest in his pajamas, blonde hair tickling his chin, and then promptly fell asleep there instead.

Leaving the remainder of his dinner, Sebastian sighed, lifting the three year old onto his shoulder, and carrying him through to the bedroom. 

He eyed the old picture, still tacked up in the corner, his own soldier. A few pieces of drawing paper littered the carpet, green crayon trying to recreate the shape. Sebastian smiled at the sight, and set his baby down in his bed, his tiny form swamped by the blankets and his pillows, his teddies all jostling for space. He was a little small for his age. Brigid had smiled knowingly. They both knew what the other was thinking.

 

The arms remained tight around his neck, and Sebastian sighed.

"AJ, come on."

"We didn' say night to Papa." came the quietly sleepy murmur, AJ's voice squeaky and small. Sebastian sighed.

"That's because we did it already tonight. Come on, let go."

" _Nooooo._ "

 

He sounded tearful, and so Sebastian relented, lifting him up again and carrying him over to the photograph of James, propping the three year old on his hip.

"Say 'Goodnight Papa'."

"G'nigh Papa." AJ waved sleepily and Sebastian smiled, a slight ache running through him, as always. He turned, walking back to the bed, and managing to settle him for real this time, the three year old curling into a ball and sucking his thumb beneath the covers. Sebastian kissed his hair, turned on the night light, and then headed back out into the living room.

 

He yawned, weary, and stepped into the kitchen, eyeing his half finished dinner on the table. It had been a long day. They'd visited Brigid at home this morning, and spent the rest of the day cooking, or at the park. Sebastian had taken an hour in the morning to answer emails about the business. Most of it was done through Lake, nowadays. He was becoming fairly competent at his job.

"Well.." 

A drawl came from behind him, and Sebastian jumped, whirling. It was quiet and amused, and his heart shot into his throat. His eyes tried to focus, but he was blinking hard, staggering backwards and hitting the table. It couldn't be.

 

James stood in front of him, dressed in an expensive suit, hair slicked back like his mama liked it. His eyes were bright, excited. Soft. He held AJ's Alexander Bear in his hands, the one that had once been his as a child. Sebastian felt dizzy. He couldn't see straight, couldn't.. it.. no.. it didn't.. make sense..

James continued, tossing the bear up and catching it.

"..I can't say I like what you've done with the place, but look at this! Sentimental, even for you. Tell me, where  _did_ you get it?"

 

-

 


	14. 35.2

Jim's nose was gushing with blood, and he sat in one of the kitchen chairs, his head tipped backwards and fingers pinching the bridge. Sebastian sat opposite him, stiff in his chair, his eyes cold and hard with anger, his teeth clenched.  
  
"..Really." Jim drawled, his eyes flicking to Sebastian, his words a touch nasal as he tried to stop the bleeding. "..I think you're overreacting."

 

"Over.." Sebastian began, before closing his eyes, rage simmering through his veins. He couldn't finish the word, had to grit his teeth and clench his fists, try not to throw another punch. The initial shock, the flood of relief, had quickly been replaced by an unbelievable anger. After a long few moments, Jim dabbing gingerly at his nose with a tissue, seeming nonplussed about the whole thing, Sebastian spoke again, his words low and strained, like he might explode at any minute.

"..Five years."

"Four and a quarter."

"You were dead." The words were spoken with eyes fixed stonily on Jim, remembering that day. His best friend. All those memories, flashing before his eyes. That gunshot. Jim merely looked at him, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

".But did you _see_  it?"

 

The glee there, the amusement.. it was too much. He didn't know what he'd done, how Sebastian had been hurt. How it had torn him apart, clawed at his insides, shredded his heart into an unrecognisable mess of blood and whiskey. He hadn't wanted to live anymore. He hadn't wanted to get through each day. Not at the start.

"I'll see it this time."

 

The words were gruff, spoken all at once as rage overwhelmed him. He threw himself across the table at Jim.

 

-

 

'Sebas-'

'Get.. off-'

'-You'll hate yourse..-"

The words escaped Jim's lips in rather panicked, breathless gasps, Sebastian's hands around his throat as he straddled him on the kitchen tile, squeezing hard enough to make his friend see black dots. 

"Four and a half _fucking_  years." Sebastian seethed, squeezing tighter still, eyes hot with angry tears, his fingers shaking on Jim's neck. "Four - and - a - half - fucking.. years!"

"I-" Jim tried, but Sebastian was blinded by grief and rage, and after a few more seconds of his friend scrabbling at his hands, Jim went slack beneath him, and hurriedly, panickedly, he released him. Jim's head lolled on the kitchen tile, eyes closed and mouth slightly open, and Sebastian looked down at him, bleary with shock, with grief, with sudden panic.

"..James?"

The name was a whisper, and his friend's eyes flickered, a ragged sound coming from his throat as he took a breath, and then a louder, choked sound, sitting up and putting his hands at his own throat. His gaze found Sebastian, accusatory, and the ex-sniper stood up, watching him numbly. A few moments passed, the only sounds filling the kitchen that of James' rasping, and the slow tick of the clock, the hum of the overhead light.

 

At last, James spoke, and his voice was rather shocked. 

"..You almost killed me."

Sebastian's retort was cold.

"I should have."

James blinked at that, hands still resting uneasily at his throat. He was still sitting on the kitchen floor, and Sebastian turned away, disgusted. His eyes came to rest on Alexander bear, and something cold settled in his stomach. He glanced at James over his shoulder.

"I want you to leave."

His friend sighed, exasperated, and got to his feet. "Sebastian-"

"No." The word was a firm growl, Sebastian turning back to Jim with a scowl, his eyes dark. "..No. You broke me, Jim. You fucking broke me, and you didn't give a damn. Maybe you should have died. Maybe we'd all be fucking better off."

The words were harsh, but James didn't so much as wince. His voice fell into that same calm drawl.

"..You called me Jim."

"Yeah. Yeah, I did." Sebastian held up a hand, pointing at the door to the living room. "Get the fuck out."

A moment of silence passed between them. James searched his gaze, searched for a weakening, a hint of the love that he'd expected to come home to, the relief and the sobs, the open arms. Sebastian was cold. Angry. Hateful. Without so much as a nod, he swept past his best friend and back through the living room, heading for the front door. Which was when the voice reached him. 

"..Daddy?"

It was tiny, confused, and when James turned, a little boy with fluffy blonde hair and dark eyes stood in a bedroom doorway, rubbing at bleary eyes with a fist. He wore pajamas, and James blinked at him in surprise, before Sebastian was pushing hurriedly past him, scooping up the child, little older than an infant, and taking him back into the bedroom.

_"I'll be back in a minute, AJ, alright? Stay in here, pipsqueak."_

James stood, motionless, his heart cracking in two. 

 

Sebastian had a child. His Sebastian, his life, his family. Sebastian had moved on. Fallen in love, made a baby. Raised the baby. He wondered if the mother was out for the evening, at work or with friends. If she'd come home soon, crawl into bed with the man James loved. They'd fall asleep in their bed, in their home, with their child in the next room..

Sebastian appeared again, pulling the door closed. He took a few steps towards Jim, the first few determined, the last hesitant. 

 

James suddenly felt horribly, horrifically out of place.

 

What had he expected, leaving for five years? Coming back.. expecting Sebastian to be.. grieving for him. He didn't want him any more. Didn't need him, not any more, not in the way that James had always needed his best friend. His approval, his opinions. His love.

"..I should go." He said after a moment, words no longer full of that joyous amusement. That excitement that had filled his belly for the last week, thinking of his grand return. Of Sebastian's face, of his tears, of that embrace that had never come. 

"I think so." Sebastian answered, slow and gruff. He wouldn't look at him. 

 

Chest aching, Jim fiddled with his fingers for a minute, before turning to the door, making it halfway there before he stopped. He spoke to his shoes, voice quiet. 

"..I didn't.. think.. I.. didn't.."  He swallowed, tried to compose his voice into his usual snarl, the drawl that had his enemies quivering before him. It wouldn't come. He'd lost Sebastian. Lost him once and for all. And he deserved no less. 

 

He wanted him to be happy, James realised hollowly. To have a life, a happy family and all the trimmings.

"I'm sorry." He uttered at last, truly meaning it.  He made to leave, already thinking about where he could possibly go, where he could stay, if he even had it in him to go on with the business without Sebastian at his side, to take out Sherlock Holmes all over again..

 

-

"He's yours."

The words caught him off guard. He paused in the doorway, and turned slowly, confused. Sebastian stepped towards him, expression a touch defiant, even if his words were short and flat.

"I used your sample."

"..My.." Jim repeated, not understanding again before something simultaneously cold and electric dropped into his stomach, and his gaze flicked to that bedroom door. He.. that.. Sebastian had.. 

He looked back at his best friend. 

"I needed something to live for." Sebastian said, shaky and accusing. He pushed James that last step, and then closed the door behind him. James turned immediately, tried the handle and banged on the door once. It didn't make sense, but it made perfect sense, and suddenly James felt sick, beyond sick. He hadn't wanted a child. Not now. And yet somehow he had one, somehow.. everything was happening fast, and the boy had to be.. two or three at least, and he'd already missed so much..-"

"You can see him tomorrow." Sebastian said gruffly through the door. "..At the park across the road."

  
"..Sebastian.."  James' voice was broken, confused. 

"..Three o clock."

-

 

A son. A child.

He had a child. James Moriarty, son of an abuser. Serial killer, multi-billionaire. A child. 

 

When he left Sebastian's, reluctantly walking away from the house, feeling cold, he climbed back into his car. He'd brought a suitcase with him that contained most of his possessions now, having been forced to travel light over the past few years. He'd almost taken it inside with him but had decided against it, luckily for him. That would have been embarrassing. As it was, he sat miserably for a while, just thinking about what he'd done.

 

It felt like his first day at St. Abigails again, stood in time out. But a hundred thousand times worse. 

 

He'd never seen that kind of hatred in Sebastian's eyes before. Not even when he'd had him beaten, when he'd locked him up day after day, forcing him to stay with him. That had been a petty stand off. A tension that had built up. 

 

This was the end. 

 

Sheepish and lost, he drove to his mother. To Brigid. His mama.

 

She opened the front door, dressed in pajamas, her nose red and her eyes widening at the sight of him. 

 

And then she promptly slapped him hard across the cheek.

 

-

 

"Where are we going?" AJ asked at half past two, Sebastian pulling tiny hands through coat sleeves, bending down to zip it up. He flattened the blonde hair, luckily not as messy as his own. Big brown eyes looked up at him, and Sebastian gave a half smile, straightening. 

 

"..We're going to the park."

He hadn't slept last night. 

 

He'd stayed in Alex' bed, laying on his back and looking up at the tiny fluorescent stars stuck to the ceiling, the three year old curled against his side, fast asleep with Alexander bear. His mind was whirring, still in shock, anger and relief and disgust all taking him over in turn as he thought about seeing his best friend, his old lover. Standing there in his kitchen, bold as brass - as if Sebastian hadn't almost killed himself over him. As if he and AJ didn't flutter their fingers at a picture of him every night. As if even now, the sound of that gunshot over the phone sent tremors of heartbreak through Sebastian's chest. 

 

Unforgivable. 

 

But Alex was his son. Sebastian might have raised him, fed him, burped him and changed his nappies. He might have taught him to use the toilet, to walk and talk.. but biologically, he was a part of James. His James. 

 

And we wasn't yet sure if James had brought 'Jim' back with him. 

 

He wished that the only similarity between them was those brown eyes. But it wasn't. Of course, it wasn't. AJ was intelligent, incredibly so, and curious too. He wanted to know about everything, about questions Sebastian couldn't answer. Why is the sky blue? Why can't sharks live on land?

 

"Is Papa coming?"

That question caught him off guard, pausing as he wiggled mittens onto the three year old's fingers. AJ looked back at him, the picture of innocent curiosity. He frowned, and gave him a pointed look. Alex giggled, and ran away, one mitten trailing behind him on a string. He returned with the framed photograph, and held it up. 

"..That's your Papa."

"I know!" AJ squeaked, and held it up higher, until Sebastian sighed and took it off him.

"..Why would he be coming?"

"I seen him."

"Saw."

"I sawed him."

Sebastian tossed the photograph onto the sofa, and took Alex' hand, pulling on that last mitten and then leading him from the house. He'd tied his own shoes today, with Sebastian's amused supervision, though he saw now that he'd been distracted. The knots were more like tightly woven balls atop each shoe, and Sebastian decided to retie them when they got to the park. He wondered if James would even show up.

 

He wasn't sure if his reaction last night had been positive or not.

"Is Papa coming?"

"..I don't know, pipsqueak."

 

-

 

The park wasn't busy in the middle of the day, but it was murky weather, and Sebastian made AJ keep his coat and mittens on, even though he whined.

"Keep going, and you can have a hat too."

He'd received a pout and glare from those big brown eyes, and the look could have been copied and pasted from James' face. Sebastian ruffled his son's hair. His son. He'd always think of him that way. 

"Go and play. I'll call you back over in a bit."

The three year old turned to look at the slides and swings and then shook his head, timid and uncertain. A couple of boisterous kids a few years older were on one of the slides, but it was otherwise free. 

"They're all wet." He squeaked morosely, before bringing a tiny hand to his mouth and gnawing at a mitten. Sebastian frowned and opened his mouth, before a voice surprised him, quiet and calm. 

"..I can help you dry them if you want."

He turned around, Brigid and James having walked over, though Brigid was dressed in thick winter clothes with a hat and scarf, still suffering from her cold. 

_"Mamma!"_   


 

AJ's shriek was gleeful and he threw himself at her, Brigid chuckling as she caught the three year old and lifted him up onto her hip, tapping her nose with his finger. "Hello, AJ."

Sebastian's gaze swivelled to James. He was holding a handkerchief out a little sheepishly, having offered to help dry the park equipment. He watched his mother hold his son with a kind of uncomfortable awe, and then his gaze flicked to Sebastian, lost for something to say.

"Alex." Sebastian said after a moment, the three year old still chewing on his mitten. He gestured at James, and Brigid put AJ down, who looked up at his biological father, suddenly shy. "..This is your Papa."

"..Alex." James repeated, saying the name with quiet weight, like it meant the world. Maybe, Sebastian reasoned, it did. He for one couldn't look at his old best friend without wanting to throttle him. 

"..Alexander James." He prompted, and AJ hurried back over to him, hiding behind his leg. 

"..Al.. Alexander.. James?" James repeated, his throat thick. Sebastian nodded. Brigid watched with a gloved hand held to her mouth as her son bent down, holding a hand out to the hiding boy. He tried to hide even further, and Sebastian stepped aside, receiving a panicked squeak as he did so.

 

He sighed. "AJ, stop being daft. Come and say hello."

"..Hello."  The squeak was muffled against a mittened hand, brown eyes peeking out from behind Sebastian's legs. After a long moment of consideration, AJ reached out, and shook James' hand with tiny fingers, before quickly pulling it back, mitten finding his mouth again. Sebastian glanced at James. He looked exultant. A smile sat on his lips, a smile that reminded Sebastian of a time before Sherlock Holmes, when they talked marriage and babies and growing old together.

 

"Alex, why don't you and I go on the park?" Brigid asked loudly, as James straightened, his eyes still on his son. Sebastian slid a hand down, and ruffled AJ's hair, before he nodded and ran for his Mamma. She took his hand, looking back at them both pointedly before heading off to the park.

 

A thick silence fell. A ribbon of flowering bruises circled James' neck from last night. 

"..Seems like we have a lot to tell each other." Sebastian said flatly after a while, both of them standing with their arms over their chests. When Brigid glanced back, she thought they rather seemed like little boys, standing like that. 

"..We do." James answered, quietly hollow. Silence fell again, and AJ shrieked with laughter, Brigid chasing him to the swings. "..You first."

Sebastian turned, slowly walking to a bench, and after a moment, James followed. They sat down together on the damp wood, and Sebastian spoke with quiet weariness.

"..I couldn't cope without you. I drank every day, and I wanted to die."

James tried to interrupt, but Sebastian held up a hand.

"I needed a reason to live, and it was like a sign. The letter from the sperm bank. I decided to go ahead with it. Three years ago, he was born by surrogate mother, and I've raised him ever since. Your mama helped. Unsurprisingly, your death broke her to pieces too."

James winced, and looked away. Sebastian was glad that it hurt. He shrugged.

"Your turn."

James eyes stayed on the park, watching the little boy run and play, his mama trailing after him and laughing when he ran back to pull her along. 

"..He's perfect."

"Yeah." Sebastian's voice was almost angry. He folded his arms over his chest again. "Yeah. I know. I raised him, remember?"

James fell silent. When he spoke, it was without looking at Sebastian, unable to conjure any bravado that he'd planned, any pride at his achievements. He just watched his son squeal as he was pushed on the swings, feeling like he'd missed a century. Five years. It might as well have been a lifetime.

"I knew what Sherlock was going to do from about a week before. I planned things in advance. Had Lake take those pictures-"

"Lake knew?" Sebastian asked with a burst of rage, and James nodded solemnly. 

"..Only that I wasn't dead. Not where I was. Or anything else."

"I'd have settled for knowing that you weren't dead." Sebastian spat, scathingly. James fell silent again, continuing again after a long few moments.

"The shot was a blank. The blood was from a packet, and I left with a few things that I knew you wouldn't notice were gone. I went to America first, and worked on the web from over there. Sherlock started dismantling the network a few weeks later, and I spent the rest of the time following him around, building back up everything he'd-"

"Sherlock came back two years ago."

"..I know." James answered quietly. Ashamed. 

"I wanted to smash his fucking skull in. Maybe I would have, if I knew how to cover it up like you did. I wasn't in the business anymore, didn't have the police connections. I had a one year old at home."

"..He'll get what's coming to him."

Sebastian laughed bitterly. "..All this time, and you're still obsessed with him."

"I can't stand the _sight_ of him."

  
"Why?" Sebastian shot back, turning to stare at James, to change the subject back abruptly. "Why did you stay? That's two more years that you could have had with me, with AJ."

"I didn't know that AJ-"

"Me, then. What, I wasn't good enough? Or did you already think that I'd fucking topped myself, because believe me, I was close."

James shook his head, brown eyes pitifully sad, as if imploring Sebastian to believe him. 

"..Nothing was right.. I managed to salvage what Sherlock destroyed, but nothing was working, the men were jailed, I had nothing left in some places. I had to build it back up from scratch-"

"And still, not a fucking word to me." 

James licked his lips anxiously, his mouth dry. "..I admit, it may not have been the best-"

"I used to think you were clever."

James closed his eyes. "..I didn't have any idea what.. you'd.. what..  _he'd._." He gestured hopelessly at the park, Brigid lifting Alex out of the swing, and putting him down to run over to the slide. 

"You didn't give a fuck about me."  Sebastian turned away again, disgusted.

"I did," James pleaded, turning to look at him, though Sebastian wouldn't meet his eye. "I missed you. I missed you every day -"

"Then why didn't-" Sebastian yelled, before remembering AJ, and lowering his voice again, blowing air out through his nose before he spoke in a strained whisper. "..Why didn't you fucking come back?"

"What was I?!" James asked, his voice a touch shrill, emotional. Brown eyes, deep and troubled, met Sebastian's own. "Without the business? Without everything I built, everything I  _am_? I couldn't come back with  _nothing._."

Sebastian blinked back at him, angry disbelief sliding over his face again, his words slow when he spoke, voice incredulous.

"What _are_ you?" He repeated. "..You mean, apart from the man I loved? The man I called my best.. fucking friend? Since we were five years old, James, for fuck's sake.."

He shook his head, and James shook his own, small and tight movements. It reminded Sebastian of AJ, when he was refusing to eat his breakfast. 

"I needed to be someone..-"

"You already  _were_ someone. You always have been. You were mine. You were James. My.. fucking.. James."

Sebastian's words were still angry, but resigned now, and he closed his eyes. James' gaze found the grass. He whispered the words, repeating a memory from long ago.

  
"..My name is Sebastian and I like James."

Sebastian let out a breath he'd been holding, and shook his head wearily. His voice was tired.

" _Exactly_."

-

 

Brigid returned to find the two men embracing, though it seemed a little tame to call it that. Sebastian's hands were fisting in James' hair and the back of his jacket, and her son shook in his arms, Sebastian's own eyes wet as they held each other. She'd been watching them from the park, and it seemed like they'd been sitting like that for around ten minutes. AJ had been clamouring to go back over, and so at last, she'd given in and taken him.

"Ahem."

Both sprang apart, and Brigid chuckled, reminded of when they'd both been young teenagers. Sebastian hurriedly wiped a hand over the back of his eyes, and Alex watched, bemused. 

 

And then all at once, he left Brigid's hand, marched over to James, and held a hand out expectantly. James blinked down at him.

"I wan' the tissue."

After a moment, James laughed quietly, handing over his handkerchief. AJ passed it to Sebastian, who grinned a little embarrassedly, and lifted the three year old into his lap. "Thanks, pipsqueak."

 

Silence fell for a moment, and then Alexander James Moriarty tilted his head at his biological father, and asked squeakily;

"Do you want to come to my house for dinner?"

James smiled, and nodded solemnly. "..I'd like that very much, Alexander, thank you."

"You can call me AJ. "  The three year old informed him snootily , and James laughed. 

"I see."

"I can show you my books if you wan'."  He shrugged, and then leaned back against Sebastian's chest, hiding his face shyly in his shoulder. James felt something ache in his chest.

"I'd love to see your books. Which one is your favourite?"

"A Cat Called Kelly."

James eyes flicked to Sebastian, and he looked away, hint of a sheepish smile on his lips. 

 

-

A tentative future together was just beginning. And in five years time, their lives would change forever.

 


	15. 40.1

To say that the past five years had been the best in James' life would not be an understatement. He carried the tray carefully up the stairs, orange juice, a rack of toast, bacon and eggs onboard, with fresh coffee and biscuits. Sebastian didn't get this treatment often, but Alex had woken him early, reminding him that it was his daddy's birthday, and so here he was, trying to play the dutiful lover.

 

The eight year old giggled, standing outside the bedroom door in his pajamas, bursting inside with the untidily wrapped presents and a shriek of "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!", Sebastian jolting awake, startled. His surprise was soon soothed into a slow grin as James headed inside carefully with the rattling tray, setting it down on the bed. AJ clambered up to sit next to his father, reaching for a piece of toast and immediately pulling off the crust.

"What's all this, then?"

"Birthday treat." James drawled amusedly, sitting down on the edge of the bed and kissing him on the mouth, Sebastian smiling and AJ pulling a face. 

"Well then."  Sebastian put a whole biscuit in his mouth, the eight year old gawping at him and then laughing excitedly, and doing the same thing with a custard cream. James rolled his eyes, ruffled two sets of messy blonde hair.

 

It hadn't always been easy.

 

Sebastian had been colder towards him at first, even after that rough embrace in the park. It couldn't be forgiven as easily as that, and certainly not forgotten. Those four and a quarter years had almost torn his best friend apart, and James knew that he'd be paying for it for a long time. But he didn't mind. He had a family. He had.. love. Hope. 

 

Alexander James had been a little easier to win over. They were so similar..He couldn't count how many times over the years that they'd sat together, poring over science textbooks while James quietly told his son,  four, five, six, seven years old, what something meant or how it worked. Sebastian would dutifully bring around hot chocolate or a bowl of grapes, but he never seemed resentful. If anything, he seemed relieved that James had taken to newfound fatherhood so easily. 

 

Sebastian was a much better father than he was, James often thought. He was good with dinner times, with washing and ironing, with getting AJ to his science club and karate lessons on time. Better at drying tears and patching up a scraped knee. He carried the boy on his shoulders, grinning as he squealed and cheered, James happy to hold Sebastian's hand and walk alongside them wherever they went. 

 

Alex was home-schooled. It had been a difficult decision, but ultimately decided by James, reflecting on his experiences with Carl Powers. He hadn't wanted AJ to experience anything like that, even if school had also brought him Sebastian Moran. It wasn't only that. James had struggled to reclaim the business after such a long time away from things. Sebastian hadn't wanted to help, had wanted no part of it, and James hadn't pushed it. He had his reasons, he understood.

 

Lake had taken over. But not just taken over - the young man was clearly an overachiever. He'd tripled their arms deals, the number of daily hits, the business rising to one of the most illegally profitable in London. He'd made it very clear that James wasn't welcome back, and had promptly issued a threat on their lives  - and AJ's - if they tried anything. Reluctantly, James had backed off. But he had big plans for the future. He wouldn't act on them, wouldn't endanger his family, until absolutely certain though.

 

Mycroft Holmes was also after them, and rumour had it, he was utterly clueless and being played for a fool. Grief made idiots of people, though. Sherlock Holmes had died a year before, murdered at the hands of one Mary Watson. John Watson had promptly killed his wife, and was serving time in an open prison. James thought it was quite poetic, really. He hadn't even needed to slaughter Sherlock himself, though he'd had plans in the pipeline for that, too. 

 

It turned out that Mary Watson had worked for Lake. Worked for James Moriarty, Mycroft Holmes thought. Of course, he hadn't been in charge of the business for almost ten years, and the information was being fed to him by Lake himself. In a stupidly bitter twist, Holmes was being duped by the very man he should have been going after. 

 

So far, he hadn't gotten them. But James had an inkling that Lake had something to do with that, too. That the moment they tried something, they'd be bombarded with attacks - Holmes' men, at Lake's information. Lake's own men. 

 

The business had come full circle, biting James in the damned arse. And the worst thing was that he deserved it.

 

But all things considered, it could be worse.

 

Alexander James Moriarty was a happy little boy, and ridiculously intelligent. One moment, he could be giggling at a children's show - a cartoon snail in a dress, telling a joke. The next, he was reading about DNA strands, and coming to the same conclusions as the scientists without even reading their research first. It astounded James, how similar they were. He was shy when he made friends, just like James, but they'd made sure that he socialised. They lived on a road with families, real, suburban families. His friends were named Lola and Max, and AJ's absolute-best-friend Benjamin, who often came for tea. Sebastian had grinned at that one, and James had known what he was thinking. Just like us. Without the mischief. Or murder.

 

Alexander had picked up Sebastian's best qualities, too. He was kind, loving.. polite. His laugh even sounded like Brigid's, James' mama still visiting every few days and bringing cakes and cookies, sitting and reading with her grandson for hours. 

It was a life that James adored, even if he'd never considered anything like it for himself. 

 

Family.

 

"Any good?" James asked as Sebastian chewed his bacon, the breakfast tray in his lap as he sat back against the headboard. He grinned, and nodded.

"Jesus Christ. Forty. How did I get here, eh?"

"..You don't look bad for your age." James quipped. "..I'm surprised all that drink hasn't left its mark on you."

Sebastian rolled his eyes, and James swiped a biscuit from his plate and took a bite.

"And I wonder whose fault all the drinking was.." He murmured sarcastically. 

Alex clambered back in between them with a book, almost sending the tray flying. He cuddled down under the duvet between them, and James raised his eyebrows at the text book. Advanced A Level Physics. He had chocolate around his mouth from those two biscuits, and Sebastian put an arm around him, sneaking slowly until he could tickle him in the side. AJ shrieked, thrashing about as he laughed, dropping his book, and James hurriedly whisked the tray away until the pair had stopped.

 

That was AJ all over. A paradox. Half octogenarian brain scientist, half cute eight year-old. But adorable. Intelligent. James was just a little proud. 

 

"Can I have my bacon back now?" Sebastian complained, and James very pointedly picked up the last strip, and stuffed it in his mouth. Sebastian glared at him amusedly, a rather filthy threat in those eyes. James shivered, looking forward to it. 

 

AJ interrupted the tense moment in his typical style, his voice squeaky as he jabbed at a section in his book, mouth half full of biscuit crumbs again.

"You know Papa, I'm really beginning to think that Newton's theory of gravitation is flawed."

"Is that so?"

 

-

 

Sebastian slid his gun back into his waistband as he circled around the building, trying to find the best route inside. Of course, there were security staff manning every entrance and exit, but this building had once been owned by James. Sebastian had been a prisoner here back when he was twenty, and for the first week or two, trying to find an escape route had been his bread and butter. 

 

It seemed mad - that was twenty years ago, now. It was three months after his fortieth birthday..

 

 And they'd come so far. 

 

He hadn't seen 'Jim' resurface since James had come back five years ago, and the relief was a constant ripple through his chest, the peace beautiful. It was obvious to Sebastian, even if it wasn't to James. The stress had done it. The stress of handling a business, of keeping it running, of keeping men paid and employed, of keeping deals above water and everything invisible to the outside world.

 

Everyone handled stress in different ways. And mass murder had just been James' way of coping. 

By all means, he wished that it could stay that way - though he knew why it couldn't. Hell, he was fucking angrier at Lake than anyone else - after all, he'd been under Sebastian's employ when Sebastian had gone off the rails, and had asked him to take over for a while. A while, being the last ten years. Of course, he wouldn't surrender it back to them. And his threats had been surprising. That timid kid had grown a pair, even if it was to Sebastian's chagrin.

 

He slipped inside the fire exit door, the one that was supposed to trigger an alarm when opened. He'd known that it wouldn't. It was old, rusty, took a good shove to get open but he managed it, laughing quietly in exultation. 

 

AJ had asked him not to go today. James had a dentist appointment, and so wasn't able to sit in with his private tutors. Alex was shy without one of his fathers there, and so Sebastian had agreed to stay - though this had popped up at the last minute. An informant, one of the men still loyal to James, had told him that Lake would be in today, that he'd be using the main building. It wasn't much to go on, but Sebastian had never worked with strategy anyway. His method consisted of names on a piece of paper. Gunshots. Bam.

 

If Lake was dead, James would be free to swoop in and assert his authority again. Many of the ones still working there had been there when he'd been in charge. It would be easy.

 

It was what James wanted. The one thing that he didn't have - the business that had been his conception. That had torn them apart to build.

 

He had to get it back for him.

 

Sebastian had hugged his son tight, pressed a fiver into his fingers and grinned. "Don't tell your Papa."

Alex had held it up to the light, and then folded it neatly into his pocket, shaking his daddy's hand. 

"Pleasure doing business with you." He'd squeaked, before marching off back to his books.

Now, Sebastian smiled at the memory, hoping James wouldn't be mad when he got home. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, after all. He slid down the hall, the corridor doorless, aiming for the solitary staircase at the end. If he was correct, Lake should be on the twelfth floor, so he'd need to find a damned lift or something, because he wouldn't make it twelve flights of stairs without being seen. He slipped up the first flight of stairs silently, before reaching a glass partition and frowning. 

 

It hadn't been there before, so it was at least new within the last ten years. No way around it. He tried the door handle, and slipped through, hurrying down the next corridor, unable to spot a fucking lift anywhere. Two more flights of stairs and two more glass partitions later, he finally spotted one - through the crowd of a busy office block, all men in black on computers and phones, some cleaning guns or counting bullets and coins. 

Fuck.

 

He hadn't even thought to wear black.

 

Confidence was key. He was so close to success now.. find the lift, get up to the twelfth floor, blow Lake's brains out before the guards could take him out first. These babies would have nothing on him. He'd done four tours. He'd been a sniper for James fucking Moriarty. 

 

Sebastian stalked breezily across the office, and not a soul glanced up at him. He yawned for effect as he reached the lift, pressing the call button.

 

To his pleased surprise, the doors opened right away.

 

But Lake stood behind them.

 

-

 

Planned. It had all been planned. Sebastian realised it in a second, at the same time as he saw Lake's smug grin, the stony faces of the two thugs in the lift with him, all of them just waiting for him. His informant had been rogue. James was going to fucking kill him.

 

He didn't wait for them to draw their guns.

 

He turned and bolted, heart in his mouth, diving into the busy office as bullets ricocheted off glass and metal, plastic and wood behind him, bouncing off the office furniture. Recruits turned to look at him, look at the lift, surprised and confused, and he wove himself between them, not caring that Lake wouldn't give a shit about shooting them. But they'd be good bullet shields. 

 

He could hear the two men thundering after him, hear Lake laughing, the bullets whizzing by his ear and smashing glass, hitting the wall, recruits now yelling and demanding to know what the fuck was happening.

 

Sebastian was already on the stairs, running down them two, three at a time. Abort mission. He'd try again. Another day, another time, on different turf this time, where Lake wouldn't have a home advantage. He swore as bullets ploughed into the wall just behind where he'd spun in the stairwell, throwing himself through the doors in those glass partitions and running in hasty zig-zags back down the corridors. 

 

He burst into the alleyway with a gasp of a sigh, exasperated and breathless, and immediately began to run again, his car parked a couple of buildings away. He could probably make it home before AJ's lessons even began..

The gunshot echoed through the alleyway, the sound bouncing from the brick, and pain sliced through his abdomen, sending Sebastian slamming down onto his front in the gravel. 

 

Adrenaline pounded through his veins, pain lanced his middle, black spots in front of his eyes as he turned onto his back, rasping in shock as he put a hand to his lower stomach. Exit wound. His fingers came away wet and crimson. 

 

Lake walked over slowly, silently gleeful and holding his gun, wearing an expensive suit that was such a copy of one of James' that it was almost funny. Sebastian's brain was working overtime. The men had chased after him, but Lake must have gone straight down in the lift, down to the bottom floor to wait for him out here. Watched him run, and then shot him in the back. He stepped closer, shoes grinding on the gravel, and Sebastian gritted his teeth, trying to drag himself backwards. 

 

A pained groan slipped through his teeth, and he dropped back down, unable to do it. The pain was too great, the bullet having torn muscle, and Lake was already looking down at him when he blinked up, bleary. He put a foot on the fallen sniper's chest, and laughed.

 

"Sebastian Moran."

Sebastian spat at his feet when he placed them both on the ground again, watching him and breathing hard. He'd given Lake his first chance, when he was just a kid. This was how he repaid him.

 

"You made a mistake, coming here. I'm really going to enjoy pulling that little boy of yours to pieces.."

Sebastian's hand flew out fast, grabbed hold of Lake's ankle, rage filling him.  Before he had a chance to pull him over, that gun fired again - once, twice, both times making his body jolt, the agony releasing his hold on Lake. The man laughed as Sebastian rasped, dizzy, hands pressed over the three holes gushing blood from his middle. 

"Tell Jim I said hi."

"..Prick." Sebastian shot back, a rasp in the back of his throat. Lake didn't look back. He walked out of the alleyway, and Sebastian grinned, dizzy, bleary, when he saw that the man held a set of car keys. 

A few minutes passed, and he fumbled with his phone, hands shaking as he tried to call James. It rang, and rang. Eventually; "Hello, you."

In the distance, Lake's car exploded in a fireball. Sebastian had rigged it earlier. Call it a back up plan.

 

-

 

James was sitting in the dentist's office, a private doctor by the name of M Elderry, waiting to be seen. He'd only arrived seconds ago, and had promptly been served an expensive coffee with a plate of posh biscuits, and been given a selection of newspapers and magazines to choose from. He'd smiled, choosing an expensive chintz armchair in the corner, and then sighing as his phone rang. He set down the coffee, rolling his eyes at Sebastian's name on the screen.

 

No doubt, AJ was demanding a puppy again. Brigid had put the idea into his head, talking about her own dog when she was a child. James had never been keen on animals. 

 

He licked biscuit crumbs from his fingers, and crossed his legs as he answered, voice amused.

"Hello, you."

"..James..-"

Sebastian's voice put ice into his heart. It was a rasp. Pained. Slightly slurred. 

 

He was on his feet in a half second, magazine dropping from his fingers to splay on the floor.

"..Where are you?" He asked, firm and calm, though terror spiked jaggedly through his veins, his heart thundering in his chest.

"..Lake.. old building.. alley..-"

"I'm on my way."  James said into the phone, holding it to his ear as he ran from the surgery, ignoring the receptionist's call of 'sir? sir - your appointment, sir!'

His hands had already begun to shake, panic setting in as he raced around to his car, taking two tries to open the door. He threw himself inside, starting the engine. He was only two minutes from the old building, the centre of the city, could be there in seconds if he sped. He was going to speed.

"..Sebastian, what happened?" He asked desperately, though his voice sounded deathly calm, an old habit from his leadership of the business. "..What did you do?"

"..Lake.." His best friend rasped, and James felt a lump in his throat with each word Sebastian spoke, realising how bad he sounded. How.. weak. He pulled away from the curb with a squeal of brakes. "..Lake.. tried.. to.. for you.."

"I can't understand what you're saying. What's happened? How are you hurt?"

He sped through two red lights, one after the other, narrowly avoiding a lorry. He turned onto the right road, and put his foot down.

"...Shot.. me.."

An alleyway.. an alleyway.. 

He spotted it. A narrow gap between two buildings, one of which he'd formerly owned - was probably still in Sebastian's name, with a thin plume of black smoke in the distance, from what he'd later learn was Lake, dead in his exploded car. He swerved to a stop and threw open the door, running full pelt down the alleyway, a strangled yelp of disbelief leaving him as he threw himself down onto the gravel beside Sebastian.

 

He was pale. His eyes were pained, but dazedly happy as James came into view, a bloody hand reaching up to rest on his cheek. A pool of crimson surrounded him, the gravel stained red, blood still eking from three bullet holes, dotted across his best friend's middle. Sebastian followed James' gaze, a strained laugh leaving his lips. 

"..N-not as.. fast..as...I used.. to be.."

James sobbed once in panic, a pitiful sound, resting his face on Sebastian's chest for a moment desperately, before his fingers fumbled on his phone.

  
"Let me - I can call for help.. ambulance can be here in-"

"..No..."

"Sebastian, I need to get-"

" _No_."

 

The word was definitive, and James screwed his eyes shut, fingers tight around his phone. Sebastian's bloody fingers were cold, and pulled it from him, tossing it weakly in front of them both. It skittered to a stop by the wall. 

"M'going.. I can... feel.. feel it."

"You can't." James whispered, his eyes hot, pleading as his gaze found Sebastian's, his best friend's eyes losing focus by the second.  "Lake.. I'll kill him.. I'll fucking.. I'll..-"

"..I.. alread-y... he's.. dead.."

A hand found James' chest and pushed at him weakly. He laid down obediently, tears tracking down his cheeks. 

"..What are you-"

"..Star.. star fish.. with me.."

James' bottom lip shook as he spread his arms and legs, looking over at Sebastian, who did the same with a wince and a little more effort, though his face instantly looked a little more peaceful. Blood soaked into the back of James' jacket, through his trousers, pooled around his fingertips. The tears rolled off the sides of his cheeks, and he screwed his eyes shut, silently shaking. 

"..Sebastian." He managed after a moment, his voice thick, and Sebastian answered with an inquisitive sound, speaking becoming too difficult.

"..You can't leave yet.. You can't, you see because we haven't.. we haven't even gotten married. We always.. always said that we'd get married."

James was blubbering unashamedly as he spoke, his heart cracking in two in his chest, and Sebastian laughed quietly, the sound little more than a breathless rasp.

"Y.. you... need.. need to.. look.. after AJ.."  Sebastian managed, and his fingers found James', cold and bloody but scrabbling tightly, and James nodded, head on gravel. He tried again, his breathing hitching, the tears still coming thick and fast.

"..Please.. Please, Sebastian.. I.. We.. we only just.. found each other again.. I.. please.."

He wanted to lay on his chest, to cup his cheeks, to tell him he loved him properly, to beg him to let him call for help. But he was already weakening still, those blue eyes slightly glassier every time he glanced over. Sebastian wanted them to starfish. And so he'd starfish with him. Until.. until..

 

"I need you." James choked. "I always have. I always.. even.. even when.. I.."  He squeezed his eyes shut, tears escaping still, and Sebastian's fingers gave a ghost of a squeeze on his own.  "We're.. we're supposed to grow old together.. Old and.. old and grey, Sebastian _please_.."

"..We've... had a... hell.. of a ... life..." He joked, voice getting fainter, quiet in his rasp.  James was bawling like a child now, chest shaking as he laid on his back in the alleyway, a starfish beside the love of his life. His Sebastian. His best friend. He shook his head hard, ignoring the gravel sticking into his skull. His hand tightened on Sebastian's, though his eyes remained on the sky above them, his voice a desperate sob.

"Please don't leave me."

He was ten years old again, wrapped in Sebastian's arms, rocking together in the school playground. Needing him. Needing him to stay, to love him, to know that he was good really, deep down, deep inside all that darkness. Sebastian saw. Sebastian had always known him. More than anyone else, more than anyone ever had, or could. His cheeks were wet with his tears, and he turned his head to look at him, found Sebastian's eyes on his own, bright and blue and wet and glassy. 

 

"..Never.." He breathed. His fingers, wet and bloodied, tightened infinitesimally for the fraction of a second. 

 

But it was a lie. Those eyes, those beautiful eyes became still. Empty. His lips grew cold and pale, and his chest stopped moving, those fingers loosening just slightly on James' own as he cried, unable to take his eyes off him. Off his Sebastian. Off his best friend. The best father that Alexander could have asked for. The love of his life. He laid there on the gravel with him, starfishing like children, like five year olds, giggling and teasing and best friends forever.

 

Blood and tears, gravel digging into his back, grime coating the walls beside them. He deserved so much more. He deserved the world.

 

James wished that he could have given it to him. Those fingers grew cold, and James' heart snapped in half. A silent scream, of agony, of grief, was dragged from his throat.

 

_Please don't leave me._

  
_Never._

Sebastian had finally gone.

 

 


	16. 40.2

James couldn't figure out how Sebastian did it. 

 

 

Coped. For those four and a quarter years.. He reasoned that maybe he was stronger, that he'd always been resolute in his ways.. that AJ had helped, a tiny baby that relied on him to keep going.. James could relate to that much, at least, though Alexander was significantly more independent than the average eight year old. 

 

One month. One month, he'd lived without him. It already seemed endless.

 

The rest of his life stretched out before him, blank and dark and drab, tiny points of light only barely illuminating the darkness. AJ's wedding day. Grandchildren. Seeing his boy make a success of himself, as he was undoubtedly bound to, with his genius. James didn't want the future. He only wanted the past, wanted those years back.. all those wasted years. He'd only begun living, only really begun to appreciate the beauty of life in the fast five years.

 

In the years with Sebastian.

 

The business meant nothing, though he'd stepped in and gotten it back.It felt wrong not to, when Sebastian had.. had died for it. Money meant nothing. Drugs, arms deals, revenge.. none of it meant anything anymore. Eating breakfast was pointless. Getting dressed was pointless. Rolling out of bed to take AJ to karate lessons, only to find that his mama had already quietly taken care of everything.. pointless.

 

Life was dark, endlessly dark. Sebastian had been his light. From five years old, he'd been his lantern in a black night. His warmth. 

But Sebastian was gone.

 

-

 

They buried him underneath a ficus tree in the back garden of the house, the house that they'd lived in for five years now. Sebastian had once made a passing joke about the tree and it's round bush of leaves, which littered the grass almost completely in the Autumn, a brown and gold blanket. He'd go out and rake them up, pile them in a corner of the garden - only for Alex to leap into them with a shriek of delight. He'd have to clear them up again. He never said a word about it, just grinned and ruffled that messy blonde hair. Carried the boy over his shoulder back into the house.

 

He'd talked about cutting part of it down, making space in the branches for a tree house for AJ. James had even seen a hasty sketch or two, though there just hadn't been time. Never time. And now they had no time left. 

 

In the Summer, they'd sat beneath the tree for shade, eating sandwiches on a picnic blanket, while James bristled angrily, swatting at the wasps that seemed to descend on him alone. In the Winter, the trunk would become a hiding place in the centre of a snowball fight, a two second reprieve from the little boy shrieking with laughter as he pelted them both with rolled snow. James could still feel it, ice in his collar, a breathless laugh on his lips, his gloves wet as they carried Alexander back inside to sit by the fire, all three of them shivering with hot chocolate.

 

They should have had years. So many more years.

 

-

 

The ceremony was short, simple. James, his mother, and AJ. Sebastian's elderly father, and his three brothers. They all gathered around a black marble headstone, engraved simply with 'Sebastian'. James hadn't been able to face putting the 'Moran' on there. Just another reminder of the promises that had gone unfulfilled. Moran-Moriarty. Moriarty-Moran. 

_'Are we going to get married?'_

_'Do you want to?'_

_'Okay.'_

_'Okay.'_

 

Afterwards, they all stood in the living room with cups of tea, making awkward small talk. Sebastian's brother Ronnie, now thirty six, sat and talked quietly to AJ, who sat on the sofa, concentrating on his text book. Brigid had put on a spread. Cakes, sausage rolls, tiny pieces of cheese and pineapple on sticks. James didn't eat a thing. It didn't seem right, somehow. Neither did the questions. 'How are you doing', and 'Is it getting any easier' just made him want to laugh. 

 

He was glad when they'd all gone.

 

-

 

Telling AJ had been the hardest. 

 

James had told Brigid first. Or rather, the ambulance crew had called her, James huddled in a shock blanket in some blank, cold Accident and Emergency, repeating Sebastian's name. Asking where he was, before it all crashed down on top of him again. He didn't know how long he'd lain beside him in that alley.

Brigid had picked him up in a taxi and taken him home. Alexander's tutors had stayed with him, and he looked up when they both walked in, marching over with a pout, ready to tell off his Papa for leaving him with his _school work._ Brigid quietly showed the tutors out, and James' eyes were wet, already crumbling as the eight year old looked up at him, bemused. After a moment, a kind of fear settled in his eyes.

"..Daddy?" He asked, just a scared breath on the boy's lips. James' mouth turned tight down at the corners, a trembling frown. He crouched down, the tears escaping, rolling down his cheeks, and just shook his head, the action minute and apologetic. 

AJ understood. 

 

He fell into his Papa's arms and wailed, cried and stamped his feet, beat at James' chest with tiny fists until they were both sitting on the floor, the eight year old shaking as he sobbed, held to James' body. 

"No!" He wailed, again and again, no longer the octogenarian brain surgeon, no longer the MENSA academy pupil. "I want Daddy.. I want Daddy.."  He was just a boy, lost. A boy without his father, the father he deserved. The wails broke James' heart all over again. Brigid cried too, silently, her eyes wet and a tissue clutched to her mouth as she watched them, not wanting to touch them, not wanting to try and pry them apart.

 

"..Did you.. did you kill him, Papa?" He'd asked at last, tearful and his tiny voice thick, the two of them still sitting on the floor, the eight year old in James' arms. Their eyes were red, their cheeks wet. Their hearts broken. "..The man who killed him?"

James didn't ask how AJ knew that. He could read people. He must have known that Sebastian was going out on a job, seen his gun. James gave a meek smile, small and pitiful. He squeezed his son's shoulders.

"..He killed him himself." 

_He did it for me. Got the business back. For me._

_It's all my fault._

 

"No it isn't." The eight year old murmured quietly, muffled in James' jacket. He hadn't even said anything, and yet he knew what he was thinking. James' eyes were wet again. He hugged him close, tiny arms clamping around his shoulders.

 

-

 

Two months passed.

 

James was living, but he wasn't living. Not really. He was actually trying now, which was a plus.. but it didn't help. Nothing meant anything, nothing could lessen that binding darkness on his heart.

 

He cooked for his son. He visited his mother, and she visited them, spending two or three days a week with them, taking on the bulk of the housework, the cooking, things that Sebastian had always done before. Things that James tried to do, but couldn't manage. Once every few days, he checked his emails and replied, handling the business from home. 

 

If something required him to go into the office, it was dropped. He couldn't leave home. Didn't want to leave home.

 

At night times, when Alex was in bed, he read to Sebastian. Sat under the ficus tree, sat next to the grave, and read to him, cross legged with a cup of peppermint tea. A Cat Called Kelly, AJ's homeschooling textbooks, any of the five-a-pound crime novels that Sebastian had used to read and that James had always laughed at. He just read to him. All his life, Sebastian had been chasing after James. Trying to clear up his messes, trying to stop him from being a bad person. He wanted to do something for him, for a change. Something he hadn't done in life.

 

One night, he didn't read to him. 

 

He didn't take out his books or his tea, and just went to sit by the grave, polishing it with his handkerchief before he sat cross-legged beside it, as he always did. He just sat there, sat with Sebastian and looked up at the stars.

 

They'd done that a few times, by the ficus tree. When AJ had gone to bed. One night, they'd even had sex out here, drunk and giggling, shushing each other on the grass. James' throat felt thick at the memory, but he smiled, looking up at the sky.

 

The front door closed with a quiet click, and an eight year old padded over the grass, his blonde hair a mess and his pajamas too thin for a cold night like this. James sighed, and opened his arms, letting him bundle himself in his lap to get warm.

"..You're not supposed to be awaaake." He sang quietly, and Alexander leaned on his shoulder, his words sleepy and quiet.

"..I know you want to go and be with Daddy."

They weren't accusatory words. They were quiet. Understanding. AJ was old beyond his years.

"..Don't be silly." James answered, combing through the blonde hair with his fingers. "..I could never leave you. That isn't what your Daddy would want."

"I'm going to go and live with mamma." Alexander informed him with quiet calm, the two of them looking up at the sky as they sat together, the eight year old still warm from his bed. "..She's only sixty five and she'll easily last ten more years."

"..Ten more years?" James asked quietly, kissing the top of his head.

"..An' then I'm going to Cambridge. So then it's okay."

James smiled and shook his head, giving his son a squeeze. He sighed.

"You're so smart, Alexander."

"I know. You always say it."

"I don't want you to make the same mistakes that your father and I did."  James' words were quiet. Almost peaceful. He looked across at the gravestone, and the eight year old followed his gaze.

"I know, Papa. I wan' to be a lawyer."

James laughed quietly. "Be a barrister. They make much more money."

It was absurdly poetic, in a way. He'd spent his life ruining lives, hurting people and exploiting the system. His son would stand up for justice, instead.

They fell silent, and James' eyes settled on Sebastian's grave again. That ache began to grow in his chest. All those stolen years..

"I could never do it to your mamma either, you know that."  He said after a quiet moment, speaking against AJ's hair.

"..She says she knows."

"..What?"

"That you're going to leave us. She says she knows that you're going to go. That you've got to go."

James squeezed his eyes shut. His mama always did know him best. When he spoke again, there was a slight shake in his voice. He rubbed AJ's arms, the boy cold in the evening air.

"..It's.. hard for you to understand now, AJ.."

"No it's not."

"..Oh, it's not?"

"...You're sole mates." The eight year old remarked simply, and turned around in James' lap to look at him. He turned his tiny hands into fish, making them wiggle through the air. "..You always got to swim together."

 

James smiled, amused. He liked that. It about summed it up. His life had been spent swimming around Sebastian. Only recently had they begun to swim together. Now he was gone, and he was swimming alone. And he just couldn't find the energy.

 

"It's 'soul'.. like the part of you that's inside. Who you really are. Soul mates."

"Oh." 

James smiled, and cuddled his son closer, tickling him. "..But I like your version better."

AJ giggled and fidgeted in James' arms, and the two of them fell into comfortable quiet again, both of them smiling, James a little sadly, up at the sky. It was a long while before either of them spoke again, and when they did, Alexander's voice was tiny. 

"..I'm going to miss you, Papa."

James had to bite back tears. He felt calm. He kissed his son on the top of his head.

"..I'll miss you too, baby."

"I'm not a  _baby_."

 

James smiled sadly, his mother's catchphrase becoming his own. He hugged the boy close.

"..You'll always be my baby."

-

 

An hour later, his baby is asleep on him, and he lifts him into his arms, carrying him back inside. He tucks him into bed, and presses a kiss to his forehead, brushing back that messy blonde hair. He kisses him on both cheeks too, and tucks Alexander bear in there with him, hoping that one day, he'll truly understand - even if he says that he does now. What he's doing is the most selfish of selfish things. But life holds no more allure for him. Not enough lightness to illuminate the dark. He can't put into words how much it meant, having that kind of.. acceptance.. from his son. Eight years old, and smarter than James has ever been.

"I'll always love you." He whispers, stroking his fingers down a sleeping cheek, and sleepy brown eyes, the exact copy of his own, blink open, finding his own. "Remember that."

"Goodnight, Papa."

"Goodnight, Alexander."

-

 

He leaves a note on the front door, and one more in the kitchen. Instructions for his mama, on how to look after AJ, on what he wants for him, on where to find the trust funds, the mortgage details. The life insurance. On AJ's bedroom door, he leaves a note that says simply 'don't look', with an 'x' of a kiss. 

He takes the pills in the kitchen. Pops them all out of their packets, one after the other, pack after pack, until he has forty or fifty on the counter, next to Sebastian's favourite brand of rich whiskey. He takes them all quickly, and drains the whiskey glass. He puts the packets in the bin.

 

He walks out slowly to Sebastian's grave, and lays down beneath the ficus tree. Laying down beside his love. With a hand that's already beginning to shake, his tongue already feeling heavier in his mouth and his lips numb, he calls his mother's number. He hangs up almost immediately, knowing that she'll know what to do. That she'll get a taxi over. That it'll take about twenty minutes. That's enough time.

 

He lays and looks at the stars through the leaves, feeling the pills begin to darken his vision, the sparks of pain beginning, dotted over his body. His mind feels numb and hazy.

 

Sebastian's hand slides, warm and solid, into his own.

 

'I'm scared, Sebastian..'

'Don't be scared. I'm here, aren't I?'   His voice is just as rich. Low and comforting, just the hint of a teasing edge. His love. His best friend.

'..Are you?'

 

Sebastian laughs quietly. James has missed that laugh. Missed it desperately.

 

He forces himself to keep talking. He needs the distraction.

 

'What kind of name is Sebastian anyway?'

'It's too big.' Sebastian shoots back amusedly, and squeezes James' hand, mocking him when he was a child. 'It's not a  _real_ name.'

 

'..All those wasted years..' James whispers, and his mouth is suddenly warm, the press of his best friend's lips atop his own. It feels like heaven. Maybe it is.

 

'I loved you for every one.' Sebastian says simply, calmly. James smiles, slow and dazed.

 

'..Did you ever think we'd end up here?'

'..Where are we, James?'

 

James can't remember where they are. Or how they got here. But Sebastian's hand is in his own, his voice is in his ear, and he whispers back confidently.

 

'..Together... We're together.'

 

'Then, yes. I'd hoped we'd end up together.'

 

'I'm scared.' James admits suddenly, though he isn't sure why.  '..Please don't leave me.'

'Never.'

 

James swallows, squeezes that hand in his own, remembers holding it for the first time.

 

'I'll always.. remember.. your hand.. it was so.. clammy. Pudgy..'

'Your eyes were the nicest brown I'd ever seen. Like chocolate.'

'I left our boy.' James remembers, a quiet sadness settling around him, an aura. '..Are you angry with me?'

 

'No, James. I'm not angry.'

 

'He's so clever, Sebastian.'

 

'I know he is. He's just like you.'

 

'No.. He has your strength. Your.. morals..'

 

'He'll be just fine, James. I promise you. I promise.'

 

'...I think I'm going now, Sebastian.'

 

'I know, James. I've got you.'

 

'Don't let go, okay?'

 

'Okay.'

'Sebastian?'

 

'Yeah?'

 

'...I'm sorry.'

'What for?'

 

'..I missed you so much. I.. wasn't strong enough.'

 

'You were. You were strong enough. But it's okay. It's all okay. I'm here now. It's over, now.'

'It's over now.'

'I love you.'

 

'I love _you._ '

 

'Goodbye, James.'

'Goodbye, Sebastian.'

'..Sebastian?'

 

'Mm?'

 

'..Don't leave. Don't leave me. Please don't leave me.'

 

'Never.'

 

-

 


End file.
